Angels of the Storm
by Colonel-Mustard1990
Summary: The Reapers have come, doom threatens the galaxy and it is time for Malleus Scandarum and his brothers to stand firm and face the oncoming storm. ME3 Specfic, sequel to Hammerhand, complete.
1. Prologue

**The Sequel to my Warhammer 40000/Mass Effect crossover, Hammerhand (found at .net/s/6718220/1/Hammerhand)**

**The Mass Effect universe is property of Bioware, while the Warhammer 40,000 universe is property of Games Workshop. All original characters are my property, but may be used provided I give permission**

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[u]Angels of the Storm

Prologue-Poor Fortune[/u]

The great blast doors of the bunker had been sealed for the last time. Its masters had been prepared for it for a long while now, seeing the arrival of the Almarach Ikmrin, the devastation the dread machines had caused. Their fleets had been scattered, their armies destroyed; even the mighty Yamzarat Machtoro, despite felling many thousands of their soldiers, even some of the master machines themselves, had finally been defeated. He lay below, in the heart of the bunker, their technicians already healing his wounds, in preparation for him being found once more.

Akmon Ilmar, Lord Mechanist of the bunker, shook his head sadly as the blast doors rumbled close, unconciously flicking back ears in agitation and grief. There was a faint booming from above as the charges set detonated and the mountain they were hidden in collapsed on top, sealing them in. Now, hundreds of metres beneath the ground, they were undetectable. They were also inextricably trapped.

"It is done," Ivris remarked next to him, looking up at the doors. "The last of the Askriit die below the ground in concrete corridors, hiding from the Almarach Ikmrin in our bunker."

"I'd rather make preparations for the future than simply die without any reason," Akmon said. "As much as Yamazarat Machtoro rails and roars about honour and glory, I have always believed in common sense."

"You are right," Ivris said. "It just pains me to have it end this way. I wanted to die beneath the sky, or in void, not with a mountain over my head. I've always hated closed spaces, you know that."

Akmon took Ivris' hand in his, four fingers intertwining, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I know, my dear," he said gently. "But the Lord Geneticist informed me that they released the Descendants but a few hours ago. Provided they survive, our genetic heritage will live on, at least."

Ivris nodded.

"So now what do we do?" she asked.

"We have supplies enough to last us many years," Akmon said. "And our Porgramat Fusion Engines should last many aeons, long after we are gone. We shall repair Yamzarat Machtoro as well as we can, and once we have done we shall place him in Biotic stasis so that he may be found again intact."

"Let us hope that somebody does find him," Ivris said.

"I know someone shall," Akmon said. "Even if the Descendant Project does not work, there will be others. We shall just hope they find him and the Archives before the Almarach Ikmrin do."

This time, it was Ivris' turn to squeeze his hand, and Akmon saw that she was crying quietly, tears leaking from her eyes, before he took her in an embrace and held her there. No words were said, and none were needed. There would be no hope for them, they knew. As a species, and as individuals, they were doomed. But they knew that if the Descendant Project worked, if Yamzarat Machtoro lived, then there was hope.

And deep in the bowels of their bunker, with technicians moving about his injured form, his mind inactive to allow them to work, Yamzarat Machtoro slept, and dreamed of vengeance.

#

Today was the third day that the Old Faithful had been waiting at the relay. The black painted ship, a former Turian patrol cruiser before it had been repatriated, had been staking the relay out on a rumour, but so far it had remained silent. And for the crew of the vessel, such a thing was beginning to chafe.

Alrack lit another cigar, the third one this day, coarse smoke from the cheap narcotic curling upwards around the ceiling of Old Faithful's bridge. The Batarian was beginning to become nervous of his crew, though he wouldn't let them show that, worrying that if their promised prey wasn't going to turn up, the crew of his vessel, always prone to a case of itchy trigger fingers, might have enough and turn upon him.

"Polias, are you sure that they were taking the haul through this relay?" he asked the Turian standing at the navigational console of the ship.

"I'm sure, boss," Polias said. "Believe me, that human I talked to was more than happy to tell me all about the route he and his ship was taking after I'd got him a few drinks. Damn typical of them; bit of booze and they're your best pals. Too easy."

"For the last time, if he's pissed he's probably got it wrong," a human over at the gunnery consoles said. "Anyway, Turians ain't much better drunk, so shut your damn mouth."

"You wanna say that again, Andy?" Polias asked, glaring at his colleague, quills bristling in anger at the insult.

"Yeah, alright," Andy retorted. "Shut your damn mouth, beaky."

"Both of you, shut up," Alrack ordered. "This had better not be a wild Pyjak chase, Polias, or I'll have Garnt toss you out the airlock."

"I'm telling you boss, it isn't," Polias protested. "It's prototype weapons tech we're talking about here; think how much the big mercenary companies would be willing to pay for that. We'd be rich."

"And if it doesn't appear, then we'll have wasted our time," Alrack replied. "Damnit, sometimes I wonder why I even keep you around, Polias; you've got us chasing some rumour a drunk told you. We're staking out the relay for some backwater Human colony in the hope it's a transit route for this tech. This is what we've been reduced to. Damn Aria and her chucking me off Omega. [i]Me[/i], of all people. One of the most respected pirates in the entire Terminus systems, and yet as soon as I'm a threat to her business, I'm gone."

He took another puff on his cigar, closing his four eyes as he savoured the harsh taste of the smoke.

"It'll be worth it boss, trust me," Polias said.

Alrack just grunted.

"Better be."

"Nah, trust me, there is. I swear. Hell, we could use that stuff, show that bitch Aria what it means to push us around. That'd be cool, yeah?"

"You know what your problem is, Polias?" Alrack asked, nonchalantly drawing his pistol and twirling it on his finger. "You don't know when to shut up."

"Sorry boss."

"Just don't do it again, or I'll blast your brains across that damn console."

"Yes boss."

"Shut. Up."

Alrack took another puff of his cigar, kneading his forehead in his gnarled hands.

"I'm surrounded by idiots," he muttered. "Idiots!"

An uncomfortable silence fell across the bridge of the Old Faithful, the crew remaining quiet for fear of drawing their captain's attention. Alrack dropped the now burned away tip of his cigar into the small ashtray next to him, glowering at the crew below him.

"You know what," he said. "Forget it."

"What?" Polias protested. "Boss, I swear-"

In reply, Alrack pulled his pistol and snapped off a shot. It impacted the Turian in the back of his skull, snapping the unfortunate alien round with a spray of cyan blood before he collapsed on the console.

"I said you talk too much, Polias," Alrack snarled. "Andy, you know how to navigate."

"That's right, boss," Andy said.

"That wasn't a question," Alrack said. "We're going."

"Where?"

"The Ilium-Citadel run," Alrack said. "All the best shipping's there. We'll get ourselves a couple of merchant vessels, steal everything they have, and then sell it and the crews on."

"On it, boss," Andy said.

"Wait a moment," a more nasal voice said from the far side of the bridge, Kedraon said, the Salarian's fingers dancing over his console. "The scanners say the Relay's just lit up."

"What? Get a fix on it."

"Doing it," Kedraon replied. "There's a ship through. Give me a minute, I can get the details. This could be our target."

He tapped a few more buttons, before he frowned.

"That's not right. There must be something wrong with the scanners."

"What's gone wrong with this hunk of rust now?" Alrack growled.

"It's saying the ship coming through is big," Kedraon answered. "Way bigger than it should be."

"What, a dreadnought? If it's a damn dreadnought then we're getting out of here. No way we can deal with something like that."

"No, even bigger," Kedraon said, worry on his voice. "Two-K, at least."

"What? Nothing can be that big. Try the scanners again, they've probably glitched," Alrack ordered.

"I…I just did," Kedraon said. "Oh…oh vastah!"

"What?"

"There's a fleet! A whole fleet of these things! There must be, must a thousand! Oh my God. We're doomed. I knew I shouldn't have taken this job, I knew it!"

Alrack fired his pistol for the second time that day, the round thudding into the wall above Kedraon's head, the Salarian yelping in terror.

"Keep your damn mouth shut," he growled. "We're going around the fleet, and we'll keep quiet. If they notice, we play nice, understand. Keep it low power and the stealth systems engaged."

The crew moved to their stations, the realisation of danger being close spurring them into action, and the ship turned on the spot, powering away from the fleet, curving around it towards the system's Mass Relay.

"They're moving to an interception course," Kedraon warned. "Shall I try and talk to them?"

"Do it," Alrack said.

"Attention unidentified ships, this is the SSV Old Faithful. Do not shoot, we are a friendly vessel. Repeat, do not shoot."

He waited for a moment, before he said, "They're not replying."

"Try again."

Hurriedly, Kedraon repeated the message. In reply, the lights in the Old Faithful suddenly jolted out, before powering back on, and a voice as deep and foreboding as the oceans themselves rumbled across the intercom.

[b]Your pleas for help shall do nothing. We are your doom; nothing you say shall save you.[/b]

For a moment, Old Faithful's crew froze, before Alrack roared; "Full power to the engines, you idiots! We're being attacked. Don't just stand there, do something."

"There's heat buildup in the fleet!" Kedraon warned, panic on the Salarian's voice once more. "They're going to fire!"

"Keep moving!" Alrack yelled. "Come on, we're one of the fastest ships in the Terminus, we can outmanoeuvre these things!"

"What about the shields?" Andy asked.

"Forget them, they've got too much firepower," Alrack said. "Shields'll be useless even if we stick all power on them."

Andy nodded, hurriedly diverting power from the Old Faithful's Mass Drivers to the engine drives.

"This is your work, isn't it Aria?" Alrack muttered angrily. "How the hell did you manage to get friends [i]this[/i] rich? You want me dead so bad. Hah! Bet you had to call in a few fa-"

His tirade never finished. As one, the fleet fired, lances of crimson energy spearing from great ships. Old Faithful's speed did not spare it, and what little shielding it had active was punched through right away. It simply disintegrated into nothing, crew reduced to less than ash by the great weapons. No debris was left, such was their terrifying power, and the immense fleet turned away.

The Reapers had not come here to deal with mere freebooters. No, what the Reapers were interested in was the planet that lay before them, helplessly unaware of their presence. It was time to send a message to the creature that thought it could defy their might, one he could not ignore.

As one, the Reaper fleet descended upon New London.

#

James Lien was, at this moment in time, a happy man. In fact, he had spent the last few weeks of his life a very happy man indeed. For an individual who had, not too long ago, survived a Collector attack, this seemed a strange thing indeed, but he had his reasons. Mainly, because of the Alliance and their wonderfully inefficient bureaucracy; he should have, by all rights, been recalled by now, now that the Collectors had been identified as a threat and that they had been driven off, but so far he had been given no word, and he was content to simply stay on the small colony and enjoy his reputation as a hero. True, when the Collectors had arrived all he had done was yell at people to get indoors and then let Cyralius and his friends actually do the work, but with the Astartes gone the very next day, the people needed somebody to thank, and he was perfectly willing to oblige.

He leant back in his chair, taking a sip from his coffee as he watched the Rugby finals between Bekenstein RC and Earth United, grinning in support of the Bekenstein boys. Hopefully the lads from his homeworld would bring home the Six Planets Cup, but even if they didn't he was happy to enjoy the match; so far it had been a good one. Pity he was on duty; a can of beer would be perfect right now.

"Come on, catch it!" he yelled at the holo-screen as Robert Ashton reached up to grab the ball arcing gracefully towards him. "Go on, go on! YEEEES!"

He punched the air triumphantly, nearly spilling his drink over his hands as Ashton booted it across the touchline, while the commentator screamed into his microphone in celebration along with the rest of the crowd.

There was a rumbling from outside, and James glanced out of the window to see dark clouds gathering, and frowned. A few other people were gathered outside as well, looking up at the sky in confusion.

"What the hell is this?" James asked as he stepped outside, rugby game abandoned for curiosity. "I thought we only got storms in the winter."

"Same here," one of the other colonists next to him remarked. "Came on suddenly."

For almost a minute, the crowd watched as they sky boiled, confusion written across their features, before great finger suddenly broke the clouds, more following with it. Across the sky, immense hands seemed to reach downwards towards the ground. Lightning crackled around them as their sheer mass disrupted the atmosphere, and soon great onyx hulls slid into view, moving groundwards with a regal grace.

People screamed and ran, and James hurried into his office, grabbing his old service rifle from its place by his desk, sprinting back outside.

"Get indoors!" he ordered. "Go! Quickly!"

Azure sparks seemed to drift from the hull of the great ships as they proceeded downwards, resolving themselves into sleek, dark craft that seemed to be miniature versions of their masters, their speed greater as they reached the ground, surrounding the colony in a great cordon.

Beams of red light lanced from some of the ships, obliterating the buildings at the edges the colony, the ground splitting and rupturing beneath the impact of the weapons. Flames sprang up from them, vomiting black smoke upwards into they sky, and they began to spread, clinging onto buildings, herding the panicked people of New London into the centre of their small colony.

And from the flames, great figures strode. Their bulky figures were armoured in plates of overlapping onyx armour, shielding rippling as they repelled the flames with ease. Black visors covered their faces, and in their hands they carried immense weapons. James gave a yell and opened fire with his rifle. Most of his rounds sparked off the shields that covered the creatures, and as one they turned on him, striding forwards with a horrifying calm.

One got close to him, and James managed to empty an entire magazine into its armoured chest, enough to cause its shields to wink out, before an immense hand grabbed him by his neck.

"Known target," it said in a voice like a continent moving. "Taken from memories of Indoctrinated Astartes. This one shall leave the message."

"Get off me!" James managed to choke, kicking vigorously at its chest, but the creature ignored his struggles. Instead, it gently began to squeeze, and James began to feel his throat tighten, his vision beginning to fade in its implacable grip. He managed to choke out a curse, before the creature tightened its grip one last time, and darkness overtook him.

The black armoured creature dropped him upon the ground, and raised its rifle, hunting for colonists. It had to the Great Salvation to begin.

#

James Lien woke to the taste of ash his mouth. He groaned, sitting up and coughing, before hawking and spitting the taste away.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, rubbing his neck. With still bleary eyes, he looked around, before he saw what had happened. "Bloody hell!"

New London was a ruin. Its buildings were scorched and blackened by flame, some fallen in upon themselves, others simply burned out husks. An oppressive pall of smoke hung over the sky above him, turning the evening sky even dimmer, and the clouds overhead still roiled and crackled. Of the great machines, there was no sign.

"Hello!" he called, voice echoing around the empty buildings. "Hellooo!"

There was no reply, and James tried a few more times before giving up and shaking his head. He picked up his service rifle from where it lay in the dirt, in case more of those things were lying in wait for him, and limped to his office, rubbing his throat gingerly as he walked.

It was a mess, something having smashed his computer console to pieces. The holo-projector was hanging part-way off the wall, sparking occasionally, and his desk had been split in two.

"Oh, God," he groaned. "This can't be happening."

He limped round his desk, using it as a support, still feeling weak and giddy from his treatment at the hands of…whatever that thing was. He reached the far corner of his old office, and leant down on the floor there.

"You better not have found it, you bastards," he muttered, clicking the floor panel back. They hadn't. Along with a pistol and a bottle of whiskey, the short ranged emergency beacon was still intact.

He lifted it up, groaning as he did so, before placing it on the floor and dragging the heavy black box outside. He tapped a few buttons on its side, and it unfolded itself, an aerial sliding free. It wouldn't transmit far, only just throughout the system, but hopefully anything that passed through the Relay would pick it up.

His work done, James Lien leant back against the outer wall of his office, and prayed.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1-Plans

The metallic fingers of the gauntlet whirred as they flexed experimentally, testing its strength and grip. Malleus Scandarum looked over the bionic critically, once a component of his power armour, now part of his body as a whole, shifting it gently, before he looked up and smiled.

"I like it, Kullas," he said. "But the stump itches." 

"A common side effect," the Forge Priest replied. "It should pass."

"I hope so," Malleus said, glancing at the metallic stump grafted into his shoulder. Even with his enhanced healing abilities, it had only been installed half an hour ago, and the flesh around it was angry and raw. "Will I need to wear the pauldron for this thing the whole time?"

"That? No," Kullas said. "Do not worry, the arm is still fully controlled by you Black Carapace uplink; the pauldron can be detached at will."

"I'm glad to hear," Malleus said. He looked over it once more, before a mental pulse of information disengaged the locks holding his shoulder pad to the greaves underneath, and he placed it on the table next to him, the crossed hammer and lightning bolt symbol of the Sons of Thunder gleaming in the light. "Kullas, you've outdone yourself."

"Thank you, brother-captain," Kullas said. "I also took the liberty of installing an onboard omni-tool, in case it should come in handy."

Malleus looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"They're useful," Kullas replied. "Besides, the model I used was made by a Terran based, human controlled company; there's no xenos-tech present, I assure you."

"Fair enough," Malleus said. "Actually, Kullas, what about my thunder hammer? Have you made any progress repairing it yet?"

"Not as such," Kullas said. "I'm somewhat torn, at the moment."

"What do you mean?" Malleus asked.

"As it is, I could rebuild the whole thunder hammer using the parts you gave me," Kullas said. "Which, while still powerful, won't be anywhere near as sturdy as it used to be; chances are it will simply break again."

"You can't tell me I can't use it," Malleus exclaimed, shaking his head. "Kullas, I've wielded that weapon for more than two and a half centuries. I'm not simply putting it away as scrap!"

"I know, I know," Kullas said. "However, there is an alternative." 

"What?" Malleus asked.

In reply, Kullas picked up the top half of his hammer from where it lay on the workbench of the Normandy's armoury, and turned it so Malleus could see the bottom of its hollow handle, where wiring poked through.

"Here," he said. "I can simply do some rewiring of the weapon, and you can use it again. Admittedly one handed, but it is better than nothing."

Malleus looked at the weapon with a frown, his once noble thunder hammer now looking short and foolish in his eyes. Then again, he supposed having it consigned to a scrapheap was even more an ignoble fate for a weapon of such a fine pedigree.

"Very well," he said. "It shall have to be a mace, then. A pity I don't have anything for my free hand."

"What of that submachine gun you've taken to using?" Kullas suggested.

"It's useful, yes," Malleus said. "But it's hardly worthy of taking the place of a bolt pistol, is it?"

"I suppose not," Kullas said. "But, what about…"

The Forge Priest trailed off for a moment, shifting back on his heels slightly uncomfortably, as if he were concerned about making his suggestion.

"Speak freely, Forge Priest," Malleus said. "I will not judge."

"Gaius' blade," Kullas said, nodding towards the weapon where it lay on the shelf of the armoury, gleaming in the harsh glare of the overhead striplights.

Malleus sighed and stepped over to the power weapon, picking it up at the handle, holding it to the light, tip held in the finger of his other hand. He looked at it, examining its intricate inlaid gold filigree of an Aquila with its wings spread wide, while on the other side, hammers and lightning bolts interlaid over each other in a delicate, beautiful pattern.

"Dishonour not the dead, lest they speak against you when you come before the Throne," Malleus said. "It is Gaius' weapon; I take it without his permission now and I may as well find his corpse and spit on it."

"To be fair, brother captain, you did use it on the Collectors' station," Kullas pointed out. "You slew that Reaper with it, no less."

"That was a case of dire need," Malleus said. "And I should be forgiven for that. But simply taking it is now different."

"If you insist, brother captain," Kullas said doubtfully.

Malleus simply shrugged, his new arm whirring with the movement.

"I will make do with the hammer in one hand," he said. "In the meantime, I have a briefing to attend."

He left the armoury, doors sliding shut behind him, and entered the briefing room of the Normandy. Titus, Miranda and Cyralius, the members of the team he had come to regard as his more senior second in commands, were waiting for him as called, and Malleus nodded to them as he entered.

"Well, we've beaten the Collectors," he said, stepping forward to the table, resting his hands upon them. "But, unfortunately, we cannot stop yet."

"And here I was hoping for some shore leave," Titus muttered with a slight smile. "Everybody else gets to go out and enjoy the sights and sounds of Ilium, and here we are, stuck on the Normandy to have you talk at us."

"As I was going to say, congratulations on defeating the xenos menace," Malleus said, shaking his head. "And if it weren't for the fact that I needed you here, you would be welcome to go out and have some shore leave. But jesting aside, Titus, I've got you here for something important."

He sighed, before saying; "The fact is, we're still at war. Defeating the Collectors was a victory in our favour, but that was only a single battle; the Reapers are still out there, and I don't know how much time we have left before they decide to move against us."

"A pity these things just don't learn," Miranda remarked. "We've beaten them twice already, but they just keep on coming."

"They're xenos," Titus said. "They can't learn."

"Indeed," Malleus said. "As I was saying, sooner or later they will play their hand, and if we're unprepared then everything we've worked for will go to waste."

"So what's the plan?" Miranda asked.

"What we need to do is gather an army," Malleus said. "One that will be large enough to actually stand a chance against the Reapers."

"It'll have to be one hell of an army," Miranda said. "We needed the entire Citadel fleet, and the Alliance one, just to take down Sovereign; if that was a standard Reaper, we're never going to have enough firepower."

"We shall have to do our best," Malleus said. "Besides, the Normandy's cannons are based on a reverse-engineered version of Sovereign's, and the Illusive Man tells me that the salvage teams he sent out to the Collector base have already managed to recover a great deal of weapons technology. We shall have to do it swiftly, but can adapt this technology for ourselves."

"So we mass-distribute it?" Cyralius asked. "Make it available as freeware?" 

"I'm not sure the Illusive Man would be too happy about that," Miranda remarked.

"I could keep it in human hands I'd be happy to," Malleus said. "But this is a matter of utility; we keep everybody as well armed as we possibly can, and we have a much better chance of victory."

"So what's our plan, then?" Titus asked.

"Two main stages," Malleus said. "For a start, we need to convince the Council that the Reapers are a real threat, and secondly, we'll need to recruit help from elsewhere."

"Where?" Miranda asked.

"For a start, we've already impressed the Krogan," Malleus said. "And Urdnot Wrex worked with Shephard; he should be willing to help us."

"What about the Terminus systems?" Cyralius asked.

"The Batarians?" Miranda asked. "They hate the council, especially since humanity was admitted to its ranks. They'll never agree to help us, even if it's a life or death situation."

"Not necessarily the Batarians," Malleus said. "I was thinking more about Aria T'Loak."

"Who?" Titus asked.

"Why Aria?" Miranda asked. "She's nothing more than a jumped up pirate."

"A pirate who just so happens to control Omega," Malleus said. "And whoever controls Omega controls the Terminus Systems. She has power; as much as the Council hate to admit it, they fear her."

"Let's not forget the Geth, either," Cyralius said. "If Legion's claims of the 'true' Geth's power are correct, then they'd be a considerable asset."

"We'll have to ask him," Malleus said, before shaking his head. "It, even."

"Alright, so what's our first move?" Miranda asked.

"I've been given logs, photographs and findings from the teams on the Collector's station," Malleus said. "That should be convincing evidence to help back up any case we put to the council. We convince them of the danger, get the Krogan on our side, mobilise the Geth and finally see if we can make Aria help us."

"And if the Council don't believe us?" Miranda asked.

"Then we take power for ourselves and start organising for this war immediately," Malleus replied.

"Not going to make many friends doing that," Miranda remarked.

Malleus shrugged.

"Nothing wrong with playing nicely, but if we're faced with extinction then as I far as I care, anything goes," he said.

"True," Miranda said. "But people here believe in democracy. They'll be upset about it."

"Then they will die," Malleus said bluntly.

Miranda looked at him for a moment, his face devoid of any sort of emotion, before nodding slowly.

"Right," she said, looking at Malleus with an expression of worry on her face.

"So we're going to the Citadel after the repairs finish?" Cyralius asked.

"That's right," Malleus said. "The swifter we can prepare, the better."

He nodded to them; "Feel free to enjoy the rest of the day on Ilium while we finish off fixing the Normandy. Ave Imperator."

He left the briefing room, and entered the Combat Information Centre. The room was empty, the crew of the Normandy currently out in Nos Astra, and Malleus headed through the airlock into the sunlight over the capital of Ilium.

Next to him, a small team of engineers and technicians were gathered at Normandy's port engine, where it had been damaged by the Collector vessel. A scaffold had been set up around it, and currently new engines struts were being welded to its length. Kenneth, who was standing at the top of the scaffold, seemed in his element, yelling out orders to the repairmen who clambered over it. Malleus noticed Kullas was already up there from their talk in the armour, welding part of the new engine strut in place with his plasma cutter, the servo harness implanted in his back shining in the sunlight of Ilium's star.

"Not trying to calm the machine spirit?" Malleus called up to the Forge Priest, his enhanced hearing picking up nothing in the way of binaric cants from Kullas.

"What machine spirit?" Kullas asked. "EDI destroyed whatever one inhabited this vessel when it took it all for itself. And if that thing feels any pain because of our work, then all the better."

Malleus rolled his eyes, before shrugging and asking; "How much longer do you think we'll need."

"A few more hours, at most," Kullas said. "Cerberus built the engine struts to be fairly modular, for upgrades. That makes installation far easier."

"Glad to hear," Malleus said. "Keep up the good work."

He walked to the end of the jetty, feeling the cool breeze on his face, looking out at the xenos city stretching before him. Part of him still itched to destroy it, and he wondered if, when the time came to rid humanity of the xenos that pestered it, he would raze this place with armies on the ground or simply via orbital bombardment. Perhaps with a ground force; they could use its resources, and considering the time he had spent here it would be more satisfying.

He looked at the cityscape as it bustled below him, air-cars flitting between buildings, before he noticed Thane Krios standing next to him. The Drell acknowledged his presence with a nod, before Malleus said; "I thought you would be out in Nos Astra."

"No," Thane said in his hoarse whisper of a voice. "As much as I enjoy the company of the others, I need time to think."

"How long have you been out here, then?"

"An hour, perhaps. I have been meditating, on what has just passed and what shall come to pass."

"What about it, precisely?" Malleus asked.

"When we first met, on the bridge of the Normandy, we agreed that I would help you defeat the Collectors," Thane said. "Now they are defeated, I have fulfilled my contract with you."

"That's true," Malleus said. "Do you wish to leave us?"

"I am unsure," Thane replied. "On one hand, I can see the work we are doing is vital. On the other, though, I wish to leave this line of work for good. I wish to die peacefully."

"Ah yes, your disease," Malleus said.

Thane nodded, still staring out at the cityscape beyond, green skin turned golden in the reflected sunlight of Nos Astra's great lake.

"I have never killed for profit, you know," he said. "I was employed by the Hanar government, to eliminate the dangerous, the corrupt and the unjust. I kept the balance, and I removed a great deal of evil from the world, and when I was paid it was all for the comfort and security of my son, even if he did not know of me. You do the same thing I do, Malleus, and through our work against the Collectors I cannot help but feel that we excised a great cancer from the world. But now, I am tired of this."

Malleus remained silent for a moment, letting the Drell marshal his thoughts.

"I have had enough," Thane said. "I have killed many, many people in my time, and evil as they were, to take life is still a sin. I am grateful for the chance you gave me to redeem myself, Malleus, but I want no more of this. I wish to die in peace."

"I see," Malleus said. "So you won't stay."

"No. Thank you, Malleus. Give my regards to the others."

Thane turned, and held out his hand. Malleus took it in his bionic, and shook it, the arm whirring with the move. Thane turned to walk away, before he said; "If you need me, however, you know an information broker who is very good at her job. I should not be too hard to find."

"Goodbye then, Thane," Malleus said. "May you find peace."

"I hope I do."

And thus, his work done, Thane Krios walked away into the streets of Nos Astra, to find himself a new life and escape the old.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2-Council

The sensation of the Normandy tipping back was tangible even within the ship as it lifted off from Nos Astra, its artificial Element-Zero induced gravity battling with the gravitational field of Ilium as it pulled away. Throughout the ship, there was the feeling of a great pull on their feet and bodies, before the Normandy flew free of the atmosphere and the pull of its gravity.

In the cockpit, Malleus watched the skies of Ilium fade into the blackness of the void as the Normandy made atmospheric breach, one hand resting on the pilot chair as Joker guided the craft into the vacuum.

"How is it?" he asked.

"The Normandy? Good as new," Joker said. "Though that's probably EDI helping balance things out. Gotta say, ever since I've let her out of her shell, flying this thing's been a breeze; does most of the work by itself."

"Jeff is correct," EDI interjected, her holographic avatar winking into existence. "I am still adjusting to the new engine, but it should not impede my function. I simply need to get used to it, in a similar way you must get used to your prosthetic limb, Captain."

"I'm glad to hear it's fitting on well," Malleus said. "How long until we get to the Citadel?"

"Approximately an hour," EDI said. "We simply need to move to the Ilium Relay, and from there we can reach the Serpent Nebula's."

Malleus nodded, and turned towards the CIC of the Normandy. It was a truly wondrous technology, the Mass Effect relays of this galaxy; in an instant, one could be safely kept in a bubble of dark matter and launched to a relay across the galaxy at speeds faster than light. Far more efficient, and far safer, than Warp travel. If the Imperium had had access to such technology, why, the possibilities would have been endless.

"Yeoman Chambers," Malleus said, nodding to the young, auburn haired woman standing at a console just below the Normandy's command pulpit. She nodded back to him, and it was then that he noticed the dark lines beneath her eyes. "Are you alright? You look tired."

"Trouble sleeping," Kelly said. "Bad dreams, that's all." 

"What about?"

"My time on the Collector ship," she said. "I saw them…liquidise people. I can't forget it. It was horrible."

Malleus sighed and shook his head.

"Will this be a problem, Kelly?" he asked. "Perhaps you should speak to Cyralius."

"What, and have him delve around in my brain? I'm not sure about that, Captain."

"I meant meditation techniques, Yeoman," Malleus said. "Who knows, some of them might help. Anyway, did you manage to secure the audience with the Council."

"Yes, I did," Kelly said. "I made sure it's a private one; there shouldn't be much in the way of media present."

"Good," Malleus said. "Last thing I want is a bunch of feckless remembrancers twisting my words."

Kelly nodded.

"I just hope you can convince them," she said.

"As do I," Malleus said. "It makes our life much easier, that's for certain."

He was quiet for a moment, before he said; "Yeoman, get some rest. Then speak to Cyralius. It'll do you some good."

Kelly nodded, and left.

#

The Normandy swept into the vast embrace of the Citadel's arms with its customary sleek grace, sweeping past the slower civilian ships and cruisers like a hawk past a mountain. It slid into the private docking bay on the Presidium Ring that was reserved for embassy ships, before hovering in place, the magnetic clamps of the bay grabbing its wings and holding it in place, while a boarding ramp extended to allow entry and egress.

Malleus, Titus and Cyralius stepped down from the ramp, looking around the spacious, clean white docking bay as they got their bearings.

"No protestors," Titus remarked. "That's nice to see."

"Chances are we won't be going through too many crowded bits," Malleus said, examining the holographic map he had flicked up from his bionic's omni-tool. "So no chance of a disturbance, either."

"Good," Cyralius said. "Nothing worse than having to wade through rioters."

"Like you need to wade through them," Titus said, as they set off down into the Presidium. "You can just set them all on fire or throw them around."

"Clearly I made a mistake when I considered your point of view," Cyralius said with a gentle smile as they stepped into the diplomatic lounges of the Presidium.

Their power armoured forms drew a few glances from the various emissaries around, and Titus murmured; "Remind me why we came in power armour? Wouldn't something a bit less threatening work better?"

"People expect us to wear it," Malleus said. "Besides, we want threatening. Threatening is more convincing."

Titus shrugged.

"Malleus Scandarum! Malleus Scandarum, can I talk to you?" a voice from behind them called. Malleus turned to see a young woman hurrying towards him, some sort of small drone hovering behind her, a whirring lense pointing from its domed hull.

"What about?" Malleus asked, somewhat confusedly.

"I'm Emily Wong, Citadel Broadcasting Corporation," she said as she reached him.

"Superb, a remembrancer pestering us," Titus muttered in Gothic, unheard by the young woman. "I thought we were trying to avoid this."

"And what can I do for you, Miss Wong?" Malleus asked, ignoring Titus for the moment.

"I was hoping for an interview," Emily said, holding up a microphone. "The people want to hear your story."

_Or at least her producers do_, Cyralius' voice sounded in the back of Malleus' skull. _Take the interview, it'll look good, but choose your words with care, brother-captain._

Malleus nodded, the movement barely perceptible, before he said; "I suppose I have time for a few words."

"Great," Emily said with a smile. A red light on her drone winked on, and she said; "And we're rolling. So, Malleus Scandarum, it's safe to say that over the last week you've managed to take the political stage by storm, especially when you said that you are an extragalactic people, of all things, but many people are still curious about where you come from. Could you tell us about your galaxy?"

"An interesting question," Malleus said. "The place where my brothers and I are from is known as the Imperium. It is, I will be frank, a grim place; power is held with an iron grip and our people do not enjoy the freedoms that you enjoy."

"And why is that?" Emily interjected.

"Because we are at war," Malleus said, slightly thrown by the suddenness of the question. "We fight constant battles, both within and without our realms, and in order to avoid losing, we need control."

"What's so important about victory, then?"

"Because if we lost, then humanity would become extinct," Malleus said. "We are, I regret to say, constantly war with alien empires that vie for power against our own. If we lost, then billions, nay, trillions, would be killed or enslaved."

"So you're against aliens, then?" 

That, Malleus thought, was a nasty question.

"I am against some, yes, but ones that I highly doubt you will ever have heard of," Malleus said. "But until I arrived here, I had never seen any of the Citadel races before in my life. I have yet to see Turians try to conquer cities, I have yet to see Asari enslave the innocent, I have yet to see Salarians launch orbital bombardments on defenceless nations. I am a reasonable man, Miss Wong, and I can see that the conquest or destruction of humanity are not the goals of the Citadel people. I bear them no ill will whatsoever."

That was an out and out lie, but Malleus had a feeling if he said that, once he had dealt with the Reapers, he was most likely going to launch a crusade against the rest of the galaxy, it would go down badly.

"A final question, then," Emily said. "In your meeting with the Council, you revealed that you had been offered to work as special forces for all of the Council races, and, suffice to say, that's caused quite a stir, quite predictably. Why did you do that if you knew it was going to cause a potential political fallout?"

"I take a very dim view of dishonesty, Miss Wong," Malleus said, with a soft, slightly disconcerting smile. "Though seeing how you're a woman of integrity, I'm sure that you wouldn't be doing anything such as, say editing my words or quoting this interview out of context to make me look bad, would you?"

The sentence was left hanging there for a moment, before, nervously smiling. Emily said; "Of course I wouldn't. Thank you for your time, Malleus Scandarum."

"It's been a pleasure."

She hurried away, drone bobbing in her wake, and Titus remarked; "Well, you've certainly put the wind up her."

"I was just making sure my words weren't twisted," Malleus said. He checked his power armour's chronometer, which ad been adjusted to the Citadel's twenty-hour day. "Come; our meeting is starting shortly."

#

"Greetings, Councillors," Malleus said as he entered the Council's main debating chamber, slamming his fists together above his chest and bowing his head. "Thank you for granting me the time to speak."

"We always make time for those under our jurisdiction," the Salarian councillor said. "And we were told that this was of a matter of great importance."

Behind the councillors' pedestals were a small gathering of others, Turians, Salarians, a few humans and some Asari, mostly aides or less important officials, Malleus guessed.

"It is indeed," Malleus said. "One that, if I may speak frankly, I'm amazed has not been flagged up before."

"And what exactly is this matter?" the Asari councillor asked.

"As I'm sure you're aware, human colonies in the Terminus systems have, over the past two years, been attacked," Malleus said. "All the people are taken and no signs of conflict are present."

"This issue has been discussed in the past," Udina said. "We agreed that people knew the risks of settling in the Terminus systems."

"Indeed," Malleus said. "That was not what I was going to talk about. I have spent some time investigating these disappearances, and discovered a race of aliens known as the Collectors were responsible."

"The Alliance found this out on Horizon," Udina said once more. "You are going over old facts here; if you have nothing new to bring to the table I will have to ask you to stop wasting our time."

"I was not finished," Malleus said. "Just two days ago, we found the way to the Collectors home, attacked it, and destroyed it."

"You destroyed their homeworld?" the Asari councillor asked. "That's tantamount to genocide, you realise."

"The Collectors were a threat to the galaxy as a whole," Malleus said. "Letting them live would have put all our lives in danger. I do not regret my actions."

"Even if they are gone, the Collectors were still an enigmatic race at best," the Turian Councillor said. "Nobody knew where they came from. How did you find them?"

"They were beyond the Omega-Four Relay," Malleus said. "We obtained an Identification Friend/Foe module that allowed us to pass through it safely."

"So you found out where the Collectors lived and you stopped them from kidnapping people," Udina said. "Congratulations on that, but what exactly are you trying to say?"

"While at the Collector base, we discovered what the Collectors had been taking people for," Malleus said. "They were rendered down to a base genetic form and used in the construction of this machine."

He flicked his omni-tool on, and brought a trio of picture supplied by some of the Cerberus salvage teams that were combing the base. The skull of the Reaper Malleus had slain, screaming silently even in death, leered out of one of the holograms, while overhead shots showed its sheer size. There was a murmur from the Councillors and their various aides behind them.

"The machine was destroyed," Malleus said. "And on analysing the materials it was made of, we discovered something interesting."

He flicked up a few charts, showing comparisons between two lumps of dark metal.

"It was made of exactly the same substance as the dreadnought class ship known as Sovereign that lead the attack on the Citadel," Malleus said. "It used similar construction techniques and we have found the same weapons being built for installation on the machine as those found on the wreckage of Sovereign."

"So you're suggesting that the Collectors helped supply the Geth attack?" the Turian Councillor asked.

"Not quite," Malleus said. "The Collectors have technology centuries ahead of our own, technology only found on Sovereign. What I believe is that the Collectors were being controlled by another."

"And what would that be?" The Asari councillor asked.

"A race of machines known as the Reapers," Malleus said. "I-"

"We have discussed the issue of the so-called 'Reapers' before," Udina interrupted. "No evidence was found to support their existence. Sovereign was not a Reaper, it was simply a particularly large Geth dreadnought; clearly the Geth had the Collectors build it for them."

"If the Geth or the Collectors had the capability to build a ship like Sovereign, why would they stop at one?" Malleus asked. "Cost is of no concern to them, so why wouldn't they build two Sovereigns, three Sovereigns, an entire _fleet_ of Sovereigns?"

"We can't comment on Geth military composition, but we have no evidence to suggest that these 'Reapers,' exist," the Asari Councillor said firmly. "We appreciate the steps you took to safeguard the galaxy from the Collectors, but this still does nothing to prove the existence of the Reapers."

Malleus sighed, and shook his head.

"Very well, councillors," he said, voice calm and level. "Thank you for your time nonetheless." 

He turned, and left, Cyralius and Titus in his wake. The doors to the chamber slid open as they stepped through, and once they slid closed, Malleus took a deep breath, drew back his fist and slammed it into the wall.

"THOSE EMPEROR DAMN IDIOTS!" he roared, metal denting beneath his impact.

The envoys and civil servants around them in the corridor looked at him in fright before hurrying away, and Titus just shook his head.

"Well, we tried," he said.

"We failed," Malleus said. "And failure is not an option. Too any lives are at stake here. Our collective fate as a species is at stake here."

He leant against the wall, massaging his temples and resisting the urge to snarl.

"The idiots," he muttered. "Are they blind?"

"They're worried about causing panic," Cyralius said. "This galaxy hasn't known proper war for too long, and it's made them soft; the last major war we had was the First Contact War between the Humans and the Turians about thirty years ago, and even then that was a minor engagement. They've become too used to peace to even consider war."

"And it weakens them," Malleus said.

"What's our next move, brother captain?" Titus asked.

"I don't know," Malleus said. "We prepare where we can, I suppose, we get some of an army; the Krogan, the Geth, Aria's forces, if we can persuade them."

"Malleus Scandarum?" a voice behind them asked.

"What is it?" Malleus asked, turning to face a human and a Turian, still bristling.

"My name is Admiral David Anderson," the human said. Malleus guessed that he was in his middle ages; even though his stair was still black, without a hint of grey, there were faint wrinkles across his dark skin. "And this is General Deniel Suvat."

The Turian extended a taloned hand, and Malleus took it, shaking it carefully so as to crush it with his bionic; he was still getting used to the augmetic.

"Admiral, General," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"I was interested in what you had to say about the Reapers," Suvat said. "As was David here." 

"You think they're real too?" Malleus asked.

"That's right," Anderson said. "Listen, we're hoping to talk to you about this, but maybe not in a corridor next to a dent in a wall. I know a good place we can talk with a bit more privacy."

It was in a bar named Flux that they sat down, Anderson ordering a round of drinks, and they began to talk.

"I was interested in what you had to say about the Reaper you found on the Collector base," Suvat said. "So it was constructed from human genetic material?"

"That's right," Malleus said. "I'm not sure exactly how it was made, but we've got teams examining the wreckage on the Collector Base trying to find out."

"How did you kill that thing?" Suvat asked.

"A blade," Malleus said. "Stabbed it in the skull."

Suvat looked Malleus' board shouldered, power-armoured form up and down, before saying; "I can imagine that." 

"Wait a moment, the base is still intact?" Anderson asked.

"That's correct," Malleus said. "When we attacked it, we jury-rigged their generators to work as a neutron bomb; we're combing it for weapons tech now."

"What have you found?" Suvat asked, a sudden interest in the Turian's eyes.

"Several examples of weapons, some shielding technology, even a few metal composites that could be used as ship or body armour, but nothing we've been able to reverse engineer just yet," Malleus said. "We're still working on that, unfortunately." 

"Who's doing this research?" Anderson asked.

"A benefactor of mine," Malleus said; he had a feeling mentioning Cerberus wouldn't win him any support from either Suvat or Anderson. "He knows about the Reapers, and has his concerns about them."

"Glad to see we're not the only ones," Suvat said.

"Tell me," Cyralius said. "Seeing as the council is in denial about the Reapers, why are you convinced they exist?"

"I worked with Shephard," Anderson said. "I helped him stop Saren when he tried to unleash the Reapers, and I saw Sovereign first hand at the battle of the Citadel."

"As did I," Suvat said. "I'm in charge of the Citadel's ground forces, and I saw Sovereign first hand. The Geth are advanced, yes, but there's no way they could have built something like Sovereign; it took the firepower of an entire fleet to bring it down, and it took at least five hits from a dreadnought class ship without taking a scratch; its own weapons through its shields like a hot knife through butter. I heard Shephard's theories on the thing and they made more sense than the Council's statements that it was simply a Geth dreadnought. I even said to them why didn't they build themselves a whole load of Sovereigns two years ago, just after the battle, but they wouldn't listen to me either."

"So what have you been doing?" Malleus asked.

"Trying to reinforce the best we can," Anderson said. "The Turians have been building more dreadnoughts over the past couple of years, ever since the Battle of the Citadel, so we can use that to our advantage when the time comes, and I've been putting pressure on the Council for extra funding for the Citadel Fleet."

"And I've been doing the same for our ground forces," Suvat added. "The Council have been willing to provide ever since the Geth attack, because that makes them look good, but they're beginning to get more reluctant. If we can't convince them soon then they're going to end up cutting back on our budget, and then we're really in trouble."

"We'll just have to hope that we can convince them in time," Anderson said. "Listen, whatever happens, you've got our support."

"I'm glad to hear," Malleus said. "I'm sure I can rely on you both."

He stood, draining his drink, and said; "General, Admiral, it was good talking to you. I've got some support from other quarters which I'm trying to marshal, and time is of the essence."

Suvat nodded.

"We'll be here on the Citadel if you need us," he said. "Seeing if we can make the best of this situation. Good luck out there, Malleus."

Malleus saluted them both, gauntlet slamming against augmetic, before turning and leaving. He had an army to gather.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3-Urdnot

"Council meeting didn't go well?" Hullen asked, seeing Malleus' expression as he entered the Normandy's CIC.

"No, it did not," Malleus said. "They refused to believe me."

"Bloody politicians," Titus muttered, shaking his head. "What's the plan, Malleus?"

"Now?" Malleus asked. "We already have allies from some quarters, at least. We'll bring them round to our side."

"Who's that?" Titus asked.

"You of all people should know," Malleus said. "You were the ones who made friends with them, after all."

"I…oh," Titus said. "Good plan."

"They're what I'm here for," Malleus said. "EDI, set a course for Tuchanka; we're paying Clan Urdnot a visit."

#

The Normandy translated in-system within the hour, heading towards the dirty brown orb of Tuchanka. The Council Krogan Demilitarised Zone drones that patrolled the void-space around the Krogan's homeworld flagged the ship until EDI supplied the correct codes, and the ship slipped into orbit over the planet's current capital, Urdnot.

The Thunderhawk dropped from the hangar in the Normandy's belly and down into the dust-swept atmosphere of Tuchanka. Its hardy frame ignoring the stinging fragments of dust that scratched against it, it swooped down towards the immense blast doors that provided entrance to the underground bunker that Clan Urdnot called home. It hovered down into the tunnel that provided aerial access, before coming to rest on the landing pad at its bottom.

The ramp slid open, and Malleus was out first, followed by Titus, Urz in his wake, Grunt, Cyralius and Hullen, Kullas and Okeen at the rear.

"Urdnot Grunt," one of the guards at the gate said, most likely an officer judging by the more ornate, geometric designs on his armour. "And Astartes. We received your message sent from orbit and Clan Leader Wrex says he will speak to immediately."

"I am glad to hear," Malleus said. "You know the way, Urdnot Grunt; lead on."

Grunt nodded, before taking them through the thick bulkhead that allowed entry and exit to Urdnot's hangar. Through corridors of cracked concrete he led the, before they entered the main hall of the underground bunker that made up Urdnot. Malleus took it in silently, before Grunt said; "Clan leader Wrex is over there."

Malleus nodded, heading towards the throne of shattered concrete where Urdnot Wrex sat. The Krogan saw them approach, and nodded to the two guards at the base of his pedestal to let the Astartes through, before rising.

"Malleus Scandarum," he said, stepping forward to greet them. "It's good to finally meet you."

"And you, Urdnot Wrex," Malleus said, slamming his fists together above his chest and bowing his head.

Wrex grinned, before saying; "And Titus and Grunt are here as well; I trust you've been looking after young Grunt, Titus."

"He's been doing me proud," Titus said with a grin. "As has Urz here. Filleted his fair share of Collectors since you gave him to me."

"I'm glad to hear," Wrex said. "And I'm glad you arrived when you did."

"You are?" Malleus asked. "Why, what's happening?"

Wrex sighed, and sat back on his throne.

"War's happening, that's what," he said. "I don't know how much you know about the Krogan, Malleus."

"Well, aside from being some of the most skilled warriors in the galaxy?" Malleus said. "There's the genophage, isn't there? The infertility virus the Turians infected you with after the Krogan Rebellions."

Wrex nodded.

"Yes, the genophage," he said. "Only one in every thousand of our children birth is not stillborn, did you know? It's killing the Krogan, Malleus, slowly but surely. It was designed to stabilise our breeding rate and numbers, but when the Turians and the Salarians made it they didn't factor in our culture."

"You culture?" Malleus asked.

"We're a race of warriors, predators, like Astartes," Wrex said. "We love war, almost too much. And we're too set in our ways to consider peace."

"And by the sound of things, you're trying to change this," Cyralius said.

"Aye," Wrex said. "Your friend in blue is a sharp one, Malleus. I've been trying to unite the clans of Tuchanka, stop the constant wars for at least for one generation; a few generations without too many of our people dying and we might just outbreed the genophage. I'd managed to get most of the more powerful clans on our side, talk them round to our cause, but I've hit a problem."

"That is?" Malleus asked.

"Two of the most powerful clans that were on our side, Wrend and Morroh, defected to our opposition," Wrex said. "Until now, our enemies didn't have enough support to move against us openly, but with Wrend and Morroh with them, they stand a chance of beating us, and too good a chance at that. And I can't let that happen; a clan-war of this scale hasn't happened for centuries, and could spell disaster for the Krogan."

"So that whiny green-plated second of yours was right," Grunt remarked.

Wrex nodded.

"As much as he exasperates me, I keep him around because he is, most of the time," he said. "I thought I could handle the clans more easily than I could, but I forgot how much of a traditionalist Morroh Banck is; he got tired of my attempts to keep him friendly, and the other clans against me answer to him now."

"So where do we come into it?" Malleus asked, quietly feeling concerned; the Krogan would have been incredibly useful allies against the Reapers. If they were engulfed in a civil war then that would be problematic, to say the least.

"You're allies of Clan Urdnot," Wrex said. "And powerful ones at that. And more than that, you know about the Reapers."

"What?" Malleus asked. "How do you know about them?"

"There's a human I know, a David Anderson," Wrex said. "He's an old friend of mine; he and I both helped Shephard when we tried to stop Saren and the Geth. He told me about your meeting with the Council. Spineless idiots, the lot of them."

"So you know about the Reapers," Malleus said. "I'm glad to hear that."

"I do indeed," Wrex said. "Why do you think I've spent the last two years trying to unite the clans? Giant genocidal machines are bad news for everybody, whether or not you're a Krogan. The only problem is, with the clans divided the way they are, we're in no state to stand against the Reapers."

"And you want our help, don't you?" Malleus asked.

Wrex nodded.

"We'll help you, yes, but you've got to do us a favour first."

Malleus nodded, a smile slowly creeping across his face.

"What's the plan?"

#

The Thunderhawk soared through the dust-swept skies of Tuchanka, engines screaming as it powered forwards. Within its hold was Malleus and the other Astartes, along with Wrex, Grunt, the Shaman and Uvenk.

"You sure it's a good idea to have all of your senior people with us on this mission?" Malleus asked Wrex over the sound of the Thunderhawk's hull rattling.

"Clan leaders lead by example, or else they're weak," Wrex said. "And when a clan leader goes to war, his Krantt follows. Just like you, Malleus."

"I suppose so," Malleus said.

"Why're we taking Uvenk along, then?" Grunt asked. "He's no good to anybody."

"Be quiet, whelp," Uvenk snapped. "You may be a warrior of Urdnot now, but I'm still Wrex's second, and getting to that position involved more fighting than you can imagine."

"Pity you're still no good at it," Grunt said with a smirk.

"Titus, you're his battlemaster," Uvenk said. "Aren't you going to silence the yapping of this pup?"

"Why?" Titus asked as he gently stroked the top of Urz' head, the varren purring quietly as he did so. "He's right."

Uvenk snarled, before sitting against his seat.

"Anyway, so we're hitting Morroh Banck at his headquarters then, aren't we?" Hullen asked. "Cut the head off the snake."

Aye," Wrex said. "Risky, but if we pull it off it'll show the other clan's we're serious; it should bring them into line. You sure this plane can't be detected by radar?"

"Kullas is deploying countermeasures," Malleus said, nodding to the Forge Priest. Kullas was sitting perfectly still in his seat, his bionic eye glowing red while his other was glazed and blank, muttering a barely perceptible string of binaric. "He'll keep us out of their sight."

"Brother captain," Kurias announced over the tannoy. "We're at the location. Shall I bring the Thunderhawk down?"

"Do it," Malleus ordered.

There was the feeling of being pulled as the Thunderhawk began to dive downwards out of the cloud cover that kept it out of the sight of Morroh and its allies. There was a scream as the turbolaser fired, tearing into the ground like an orbital strike, before the Thunderhawk levelled out. Malleus felt it tilt, and could hear its heavy bolters chattering as it fired, no doubt on another strafing run.

It slowed before thudding into the ground, heavy bolters still roaring, and the ramp at its nose slid open. Malleus was out of his harness as soon as he saw the first crack of sunlight through it, and his thunder hammer crackled as he activated it. The weapon felt strange in his grip, even with the Mass-Effect generator Kullas had installed in its new pommel to keep its balance, and Malleus supposed he had still to get used to it. Probably should have practiced on the training drones on the Normandy.

The area he had charged into was a large, dusty courtyard before a blocky, bunker-like building of stone the same sandy brown as the dust that choked the air of Tuchanka, ugly and squat. The wreckage of several armoured vehicles lay next to a smoking crater, no doubt the work of the Thunderhawk's turbolaser, while two heavy anti-aircraft cannons lay as smoking wreckage on the walls that surrounded the compound.

"Contacts front," he yelled as the doors to the bunker slid open, a small squad of Krogan charging forth. The Thunderhawk, engines screaming as it began to lift off, turned its heavy bolters on them and cut them down with a chattering noise.

"Contacts left!" Hullen warned, before his assault cannon opened fire. "I need some support."

Grunt and Urdnot's Shaman ducked to cover next to the marine, opening fire with their own weapons, while yet more Krogan began to pour from the bunker. Uvenk, Wrex and Kullas took fire positions against them, round blazing downrange, and Malleus nodded to Titus and Okeen.

"Let's show them how it's done," he said. "Cyralius, give Hullen and the Shaman some psyker support. Titus, Okeen, charge! AVE IMPERATOR!"

His thunder hammer crackled with energy as he thundered forwards, bullets sparking off his power armour, while the chainblade of Okeen's Narthecium buzzed into life. The three Astartes hit ten times their number of Krogan like an avalanche. Malleus swung with his hammer, its power field shattering bone and rupturing organs, the hardy frames of the krogan no match for its raw killing power.

Next to him, Okeen sent great gouts of orange blood flying as he stabbed and slashed with his narthecium, roaring prayers to the Emperor. The apothecary yelled in fury as he attacked the Krogan before him, laying about left and right, his screaming chainblade tearing through flesh and armour with ease.

Titus was more disciplined, but equally deadly, going through combat manoeuvres with only his power-armoured gauntlets as weapons. Necks were snapped by chops, snouts staved in by punches, ribcages shattered by vicious kicks. He moved like a whirlwind, swiftly dispatching any xenos that got too close, slaughter in his wake. By his ankles, Urz bit and snarled, barrelling into Krogan, knocking them to the floor, tearing at throats with his jutting tusks.

Through the Krogan they cut, a few hammerblow punches from the burly xenos glancing from their armour, the retort a slash from a chainsword, a punch from Titus' gauntlets or a swing from Malleus' crackling thunder hammer. They were invulnerable, too swift and too well armoured to attack effectively, and each hit was a kill; hardy as the Krogan were, they were no match for the Emperor's scientific progenies or the feats of Imperial technology that armed and armoured them.

A minute of furious melee combat later, and Malleus smashed his thunder hammer into the jaw of the final Krogan. The way to the doors cleared, he turned to the courtyard and yelled out; "Inside! Move!"

Wrex, Kullas and Uvenk stormed forwards through the doors, ducking to behind the half-open blast doors and taking fire positions to cover the advance of the others. Grunt and the Shaman were first to go, Hullen calmly backtracking as he faced the enemy reinforcements still charging into the compound, assault cannon picking a target and tearing it down one by one. He cleared the doors last, and Kullas chattered a prayer as the ordered the doors closed. Fire pinged off the thick metal, and the Forge Priest announced; "I have sealed the doors; they will not be able to access it without explosives."

"Good work," Malleus said. "Let's find Morroh Banck."

They advanced, sweeping through the main corridor that they had entered. Various corridors branched off, but they headed towards its heart, hoping that they could find Morroh Banck, before Cyralius suddenly stopped by a doorway and said; "Up here."

"What?" Wrex asked.

"There's a large concentration of Krogan and what looks to be a command centre down below us," Cyralius said, an unearthly glow of witchlight around his eyes. "We continue the way we go and we run into the main barracks and get overwhelmed. We've already got reinforcements coming that way."

"Understood," Malleus said. "Let's move."

There was a rumble from behind them, and Kullas said; "They must have breached the doors."

The Forge Priest seemed to frown beneath his helmet as he hyper-tuned senses, enhanced by the artifice of the Mechanicum beyond even the degree available to the Astartes, before adding; "Vehicles, large, tyred, judging by estimated weight, I'd say they're armoured and armed."

"Tomkahs," Wrex said. "Their cannons will probably go through even your armour. We'll head down, seeing as you know Banck's there, somehow."

"Agreed," Malleus said. "Swift as lightning, brothers!"

"Wrathful as thunder!" the other finished, as Malleus took to the stairwell the doors led into, Wrex in his wake. Occasionally, they would come across a heavy, sealed blast door, but Cyralius would shake his head and order them to move further downwards, deeper into the bunker that served as the headquarters for Wrex's opposition.

"This is it," Cyralius said suddenly, stopping at a door. "Hullen?"

"A pleasure," Hullen said, hefting his melta. He fired, a corona of raw heat forming around the barrel of the weapon, which already glowed red hot, before the screaming melta beam reduced the door to nothing but steam, the concrete around it red hot and molten.

Malleus was first through the portal, the white and gold paint of his power armour peeling in the residual heat, his thunder hammer up and crackling, ready for any threats, but the only thing that awaited him was the scorched remains of two Krogan sutured to the floor; their shields and armour clearly were no match for the raw power of Hullen's melta.

"We're clear," he called. "Quickly."

The small strike team of Astartes and Krogan hurried through, into yet another stretch of the bunker's complex, the noise of bellowed orders audible through the corridor. Wrex took the lead, his heavy, customised rifle raised, growling; "Banck's close. I can smell him," before he walked into a hail of fire.

His kinetics took the worst of it, and the Krogan ducked back behind the corner with a curse, before sweeping his weapon around the corner and sending its entire magazine off in an attempt to keep the enemy's heads down.

Titus was through next, his shotgun blazing as he sprayed more suppressive fire across the room. The veteran marine trusted his power armour and simply stood firm in the centre of the doorway, roaring curses as his weapon tore through the room. He ducked behind cover as he slammed another drum of thermals home, and Malleus followed, submachine gun raised.

They were in some sort of command centre, a large, hexagonal room with walls studded with consoles and holo-screens. Most of these were being used as cover by a small group of Krogan, while at the other end of the command centre, next to a pair of heavy blast doors, stood a particularly bulky Krogan, skin a dappled ochre, bellowing orders to the other warriors around him.

"I've got you Banck, you treacherous bastard!" Wrex bellowed. The chieftain of Clan Urdnot broke cover, a bolt of biotic force arcing towards the leader of Clan Morroh, slamming into his shield with a deep thump. "I'll tear your head off and drink from your skull!"

Banck merely snarled, snapping off a few return shots before bellowing; "Kill them!"

He slammed a button on the wall next to him, and the doors slid aside, revealing a small boxy room. He stepped inside, and the doors closed with a rumble.

"A lift?" Wrex roared furiously. "You try to flee from me in a lift! Coward! Oath breaker!"

He strode forwards, more fire thudding from his rifle, heedless of the return shots as he erected a biotic barrier to keep him from harm. His Krantt, Uvenk and the Shaman, went to his side, as did Grunt. Malleus quickly issued an order, and the Astartes joined the advancing wedge, fire spitting from their own weapons.

Enemy Krogan stayed behind cover, firing their weapons when they could, but the storm of firepower, thanks in no small part to the work of Hullen's assault cannon, cut down any that stood. The small phalanx did not stop, advancing onto cover and forcing the enemy to move, forcing them into vulnerable positions where they were torn down by fire. Orange blood was spilt, organs and their backups ruptured, and even the hardy frames of the Krogan were no match for the sheer amount of fire coming from their foe.

In a minute of furious combat, the room was cleared, Wrex finishing the last of his enemies with a blow from the stock of his rifle.

"We need a way to get up," he said. "If Banck gets to reinforcements then we're in trouble."

"Not a problem," Kullas said from over by a console. "He's still in the elevator, and I am bringing it back down to our level. It should arrive quickly."

He chattered something, a binaric machine prayer, and the doors of the elevator slid open. Morroh Banck looked at the gathering of Astartes and Krogan with confusion, before Wrex grabbed the rival clan leader, slamming their thick snouts together, and punching him in the jaw. Banck bellowed in pain, but before he could react a final swing from Wrex knocked him to the ground.

"We're going to the surface," he said to the others. "I want this to be as public as possible."

The elevator slid upwards, moving swiftly at Kullas' command, Wrex pinning Banck to the floor with his foot. It stopped some way up, and they stepped into the tunnel that they had used to enter the complex in the first place.

A small squad of Krogan saw them step free, and raised their weapons, before Wrex hauled the clan leader forwards. The enemy hesitated for a moment, before lowering their weapons, while Wrex grabbed the still stunned Banck by the scruff of his neck and hauled him forwards towards the blast doors. He led the leader of Clan Morroh up the ramp, the Astartes following uncertainly in his wake.

"What's he doing?" Hullen voxed. "They'll have gathered in force out there; he's walking right into their fire, surely?"

"I know," Malleus said. "I suspect he does as well."

"Hope he has a plan," Okeen said.

Wrex cleared the lip, the Astartes in his wake, and stared into a forest of weapons. Large bore mass-accelerator cannons were trained on him from turrets of a pair of heavy APCs, while what looked to be a full company-strength group of Krogan warriors were clustered around the vehicles or in cover.

"They really rolled out the red carpet, didn't they?" Hullen remarked, lowering his assault cannon into a firing position in readiness for a fight.

Surprisingly, the Krogan remained where they were, the sight of Banck on his knees enough to stay their weapons. Wrex stepped forwards, and announced; "Morroh Banck has been defeated, and his krantt is dead. I claim right of conquest; Clan Morroh is mine to command, unless any wish to challenge."

None was forthcoming, and many of the Krogan lowered their weapons.

"What the Emperor's Name is going on?" Malleus voxed.

"Haven't a clue," Titus replied. "They're keen on their honour, though; this is probably some ritual thing they do."

"Where are the other leaders of the other clans?" Wrex called out to the crowd of Krogan before him.

"I am Wrend Login of Clan Wrend," one of the Krogan said. His hump seemed bigger than that of the warriors around him, his weapon better made, probably more powerful. Definitely an officer, Malleus decided.

"Morroh Banck is beaten," Wrex said. "Does Clan Wrend acknowledge right of conquest."

Login nodded.

"We do," he said. "The battle was a fair one; you've got some quads, doing what you did, Wrex."

"I object!" Banck suddenly spoke. He struggled to his feet, orange blood dripping from his nose as he stood unsteadily. "Wrex used the aid of aliens, and this is a matter for the Krogan and the Krogan alone!"

"The Astartes are allies of Clan Urdnot," the Shaman said. "As Shaman of Clan Urdnot and keeper of the traditions and laws of Tuchanka and the Krogan, I see no law breaking in calling upon allies for aid in such a situation, even if they are aliens."

"He is right," Wrend Login said. "Urdnot Wrex, your right of conquest is legal. Clan Wrend steps down from our opposition. Clan Morroh is yours."

Morroh Banck cursed and spat on the ground, sand turned sticky with the blood in the Krogan's spit.

"What would you do with me, then?" he asked. "You've taken my clan through dishonourable means, so perhaps your way of finishing me will equally so."

Wrex simply raised his rifle and shot him once, between the eyes.

"You're a treacherous, back-stabbing worm, Morroh Banck," he said. "Don't talk to me about honour."

"That was surprisingly easy," Malleus remarked. Wrex simply nodded.

"The Krogan respect strength," he said. "And the strongest always leads. Most of Morroh's leaders won't like it, but I pay their own traditions the right respect then their warriors should be willing to serve under my rule, and that's what important. Believe me, if we didn't have these then we would have torn ourselves apart in endless wars long ago. This won't last forever, but it should do for now."

"So the Krogan will be ready when the time comes to fight the Reapers?"

"We'll be ready," Wrex said. "Hell, we'll be looking forward to it."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4-Catharsis

"Malleus," Samara said as the brother-captain entered the port observation deck, the bulkhead door sealing shut behind him. The Justicar rose from her sitting position, the biotic sphere she held suspended between her hands fading to nothing as she stood. "I'm glad you're here."

"Yeoman Chambers said you wished to talk to me," Malleus replied. "What's this about?"

"There's somebody I wish to find on Omega," Samara said. "Seeing as you're going there, I was hoping for your help with that. But I also wished to talk about something else."

"What was that?" Malleus asked.

"You."

"Me?" Malleus asked, sitting down on one of the benches.

"I have spoken to some of the others, Titus, Kullas, Miranda, Kelly, and we are…concerned about you," Samara said.

"Concerned? Concerned about what exactly?"

"Malleus," Samara said. "When I look into your eyes, do you know what I see?"

"Enlighten me," Malleus said.

"I see the eyes of a warrior, a soldier," Samara said. "I see somebody strong, but honourable at the same time, might tempered by the weight of duty. But do you know what else I see?" 

"What?"

"Guilt."

"Guilt?" Malleus asked. "What have I to feel guilty of?"

"It's the guilt of a father who has lost his son, who blames himself for his death," Samara said.

"What son?" Malleus asked. "I've never had children, Samara."

"No, but there was one who you treated as a son, was there not?" 

Malleus sighed, nodding his head.

"Gaius, yes."

"Indeed."

"So what do you want to know about this?" Malleus asked.

"I am worried about you, Malleus," Samara said, her tone never breaking from the calm, serene one he had known all this time. "You carry this guilt with you and you have nothing to relieve it."

"I pray," Malleus said. "The Emperor hears my words and provides guidance."

"And what has he told you?"

"It is not the place of the faithful to await miracles or divine signs," Malleus said. "Demand not from your Emperor, for it is not your place; He is mightier than thou shalt ever be."

"Quoting again?"

"So what if I am? My faith in Him on Terra is steadfast, and any awkward questions that you ask will not shift it."

"I am not here to undermine any of your beliefs, Malleus, do not worry," Samara replied. "I just want to talk to you about Gaius."

"Well here I am," Malleus said. "You're worried about me, fine, but I assure you that there's nothing to worry about. Gaius' death wasn't good, I know, and if I could have avoided it I would have, but I know there was nothing I could do. There's nothing to talk about. He is dead. It is a shame, and I wish it had not happened, but I have moved on."

"Malleus, I said almost exactly the same thing when I discovered something…terrible about one of my daughters," Samara said. "I tried to present a strong front, to try and convince others around me that I was fine, that I needed no extra attention, but it ate me up inside, tore me apart. I know the pain of losing a child, Malleus, and you cannot simply quash it into nothing."

"I lost no child," Malleus said. "Gaius was not my son."

"Not by blood, but Titus told me about how you rescued him from Polgrin IV, how you took him to the Sons, how you made sure that after he completed his training he was transferred to Sixth Company, how you kept an eye on him through his training. You did exactly what a father did, Malleus." 

"Perhaps I did," Malleus said. "But Gaius is dead now. There is nothing more I can do."

"You can stop blaming yourself," Samara said gently.

"Blaming myself?" Malleus asked. "I do not blame myself."

"After the Reaper ship, you confined him to the Normandy," Samara said. "And he was taken by the Collectors. And you blame yourself for that."

"I do not," Malleus said. "How could I have known that Harbinger would attack the Normandy?"

"I know," Samara said. "But you feel that what happened to Gaius was your fault, do you not?"

There was a silence, before Malleus said; "Partly, perhaps. It is not rational, I know."

"You need to let go of that idea, Malleus," Samara said. "What happened to Gaius was not your fault."

"I know, I know," Malleus said. "But it still pains me, nonetheless."

A gentle hand was laid upon Malleus' thickly muscled, heavily scarred shoulder.

"Let it go," Samara said gently. "What happened to Gaius was tragic, but it was not your fault." 

"I said I know," Malleus said. "Perhaps…"

He trailed off, and Samara asked; "Perhaps what?"

"Perhaps I was wrong about the blade," Malleus said. "I suppose I may have need of it. I doubt he would resent me using it. Besides, it might be good for me. Catharsis."

"I'm glad to hear that," Samara said.

Malleus smiled slightly, and nodded.

"Anyway," Malleus said. "You said you wanted to talk to me. What of?"

"Do you remember when we first met, on Ilium?" Samara said, staring into the void that stretched beyond the viewing screen of the Normandy's port observation deck.

"Yes," Malleus said. "You were hunting that criminal, weren't you?"

"I was," Samara said. "I got so caught up in this Collector business that I felt I should put the matter aside until they were dealt with. But now that we're going to Omega, I feel it would be the best time to act." 

"Of course," Malleus said. "Who was this person?"

"She is a murderess," Samara said. "She has hunted prey across the galaxy for more than three centuries, and I have chased her the entire way. She is remorseless, sadistic and utterly without mercy."

"No wonder you've been chasing her," Malleus asked. "Who is she?"

"She is my daughter."

Silence reigned across the deck for a moment, before Malleus said; "I…I see. When did this happen?"

"Many, many years ago," Samara said. "Once, when I was a young woman, before I joined the order of the Justicars, I worked as a mercenary. Sometimes I would fight, sometimes I would kill and sometimes I would simply dance the night away. But I grew older, matured, wanted to start a family, so I left that life. I found a mate, bonded with him, and had my first child. And that was where it all went wrong." 

"What happened?" Malleus asked.

"I sat waiting in a bed in a hospital clad in a thin green gown, exhausted from childbirth, while a doctor told me that they had run a few regular health checks on my newborn daughter and told me she was Ardat Yakshi," Samara said. Her calm tone hadn't broken, but there was a glazed, weary look in her eyes.

"Ardat Yakshi?" Malleus quizzed.

"It is an old, old Asari word meaning 'demon of the night winds," Samara said. "It is a genetic condition, one in every few billion births, but the effects are…horrific."

"What are they?"

"Do you remember when I told of how Asari reproduced?" Samara asked, and Malleus nodded. A method of breeding as repellent as that was not something that would slip his mind easily. "With an Ardat Yakshi, it is different; it is no mere gentle melding of minds, but instead the victim's nervous system is burned out and they are left as a shell of a being. I had three daughters, Malleus, all of whom were the same. To carry a child for ten months, to care for her, to pray for her, to hope for her, to think of what you shall name her, who you shall have as god-parents, only to have her named a freak and crime against the natural order before you even get to hold her in her arms for the first time? Do you know what it feels like to have a child torn from you in that sense? No amount of love can ever bridge such a gap, Malleus. No amount of hope, no amount of faith in your child can hope to overcome the fact that your child could kill somebody simply by trying to have children of their own."

Her gaze was set firmly into the void, expression unreadable. Malleus remained silent, deciding that simply lending the xenos before a sympathetic ear would be the wisest course of action; empty apologies or placations would serve only to infuriate her.

"Two of my daughters are living a life of seclusion and comfort," Samara said. "They have accepted their nature and simply live with it, and I am proud of them for that. But Morinth, my eldest, decided that she was not happy with it. She left it, and she started using her talents to kill people."

"Why?" Malleus asked.

"Every time an Ardat Yakshi bonds with somebody and burns out their nervous systems, they grow stronger," Samara answered. "They are known to be particularly powerful biotics, even among the Asari, and their latent talent is strengthened each time they bond with someone. Not only that, but it's highly addictive; I doubt she could stop now, even if she wanted to."

"So that's what you meant when you said you'd lost a child, wasn't it?" Malleus asked.

Samara nodded.

"I buried the Morinth I loved after she killed her first victim," Samara said. "She is no longer my child, just a creature I must hunt down and kill for the good of all."

"And you want my help to find this Morinth?" Malleus asked.

Samara nodded.

"I want you to help me lure her in and kill her," Samara said. "If we can find her on Omega, then we can finish her once and for all."

"Very well," Malleus said. "I'll help you. But first I've got a pirate I must visit." 

#

The armoury of the Normandy was empty, its racks of weapons barely illuminated by the dim overhead lighting, Kullas' workbench standing untended. The brighter, harsher strip lighting embedded into the ceiling flicked on as the sensors in it detected Malleus' entry, and for a moment the brother captain stood in the doorway.

He stepped towards one of the shelves that housed the weapons of him and his brothers; there was his hammer, his sub machinegun and bolt pistol, rarely used now that he only a magazine of ammunition, Titus' bolter and his shotgun, Okeen's Narthecium, while Hullen's bulky assault cannon and melta took up a shelf of their own. Gaius' blade, aegis and bolt pistol lay on the top shelf, all of them covered reverently with a modest white sheet by Kullas.

He pulled it back, revealing the straight, silver length of he blade. Intricate gold leaf was worked into its design, a simple, pleasing patter of interweaving lines that Malleus knew was the work of Gaius' hand. He remembered how eager the young champion had been to show Malleus his act of metallurgy, and the smile and words of approval he had given Gaius; the Sons were the genetic legacy of Vulkan, after all, and the only smiths that Malleus would dare say were finer than theirs were perhaps of the Iron Hands.

He drew the blade out, inspecting its length, feeling its weight. Perfectly balanced, of course, the Forge Priests of the Sons knew their craft well, and elegant in its simplicity of design; simply a straight length of sharpened metal, no curves like those of the White Scars or brutal hooks and barbs like the blades of those brutal savages, the Fire Beasts.

Almost reverentially, he laid the blade on Kullas' workbench, knelt before it, and quietly prayed.

"Blessed Emperor," he murmured in High Gothic. "I take this blade so that I may smite thy foes and guard thy people. Once it belonged to the warrior Gaius Lokim, who I know stands by your side even now, and I ask for your permission to take this weapon without offending the spirit of my battle brother. I ask that you, in you infinite wisdom, judge me worthy of wielding this blade now that he is unable, so that I may continue his righteous work."

He knelt there for a minute, and while nothing happened, just as he had suspected, there was something about the prayer that put him at ease.

"Ave Imperator Rex Hominis," he said, rising to his knees.

He reached towards the blade, taking it by the hilt, reaching to the pommel and unscrewing the glowering Aquilas' head that was there. He reached into it, and drew out a roll of parchment, carefully rolling it out on the workbench before him. It was a list of names, all of those who had wielded the blade in the past; Morion Palnis, Loorkin Remmis, Helios Aquiloc and finally, at the bottom of the parchment, Gaius Lokin. Malleus made the sign of the Aquila, before taking the quill and ink that Kullas kept by his workbench. Dipping the nib into jet liquid, he placed pen to paper and added to the bottom of the list; "Malleus Scandarum."

He blew on it gently to dry it, before rolling it back into its tubular shape and sliding it back within the hilt, screwing the Aquila back into place. He hefted the blade in his grip, feeling its weight once again, examining the blade, before murmuring; "Blessed Emperor, may I be found worthy." 

He placed the blade on the shelf next to his other weapons, made the sign of the Aquila once more, and left.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5-City of Sin

The Normandy's engines flared as it coasted over yet another asteroid, one easily ten times its size, swooping swiftly through the calmest part of the asteroid field as it headed towards its destination; Omega.

Once, long, long ago, Omega had simply been an asteroid. Prospector drones had scanned its surface, and discovered rich deposits of precious metals beneath its rocky exterior, and mining corporations had flocked to stake a claim to its abundant resources. Within a few years of mining, a small city had cropped up on the asteroid, digging deeper and deeper into its core as its inhabitants stripped it clean. After just a few years of furious strip mining, the asteroid had been left as nothing more than a hollow dome of rock stretching a good ten kilometres across, while a city of twisting corridors and atmospherically sealed skyscrapers clung to its innards.

The poor of the city, the miners and their dependents, couldn't afford to leave with the corporations, who took the private security firms who kept the peace with them. Omega became lawless, an anarchy, and soon enough pirates moved in, using its docks as staging posts to repair and launch their ships. Petty criminals became crime lords, a ruling class of violent thugs and killers, and rates of murder spiralled. Omega became a city of the lawless and the violent, of addicts and dealers, pimps and whores and protection rackets. The private security firms returned, not to restore order but because paranoid criminals paid well and it was the perfect place for their less savoury operations. Ignored by the Council and the rest of the galaxy, Omega had spent the last two hundred years fermenting in a still of misery and violence.

The Normandy slid into a docking bay, its engines whining to keep it suspended as they fought against the artificial gravity that held everything in Omega down, and a gangplank of rusty sheet metal slid across to its airlock.

Malleus was first out, followed by Titus, Samara and Cyralius, and a group of what could have been mercenaries, judging by their ragged appearance and tattoos, stood to greet them.

"There's a docking fee," the Batarian at their fore said, glowering at the group with his four eyes. "Pay up."

"We're exempt," Malleus said.

"Nobody's exempt," the Batarian spat. "Pay the damn docking fee, or we'll get some reinforcements and blow you and your fancy ship to hell."

There was a soft clunk as the mag-clamps that held Gaius' blade to Malleus' waist released and the weapon fell into to the fingers of his ceramite gauntlet. He spun it, and its tip came to rest on the Batarian's throat.

"I said we're exempt," Malleus replied softly. "Now please, let us through."

The Batarian's four deep black eyes flicked from the blade, back to Malleus' impassive, craggy face, before stepping back and nodding.

"Let's get out of here," he said to the other mercenaries, the small band of blue armoured humans, Turians and Batarians hurrying out of the bay.

"Hullen, get out here and bring your assault cannon," Malleus ordered into the vox. "Keep an eye on the ship."

"Aye, brother captain," Hullen said. "You can count on me."

"Knew I could," Malleus said. He nodded to the others. "Let's go find Aria."

The streets of Omega were wide, but seemed poorly kept. Even here, one of the richer parts of the Asteroid judging by the squads of heavily armed mercenaries at either end of the street, there seemed an ingrained layer of dirt and a feel of squalor. And it was busy, crowds of people pushing through the street while vendors advertised food, tech, narcotics and sex from ramshackle stalls. A few air-cars zipped overhead, flying without any real regard for other drivers, many of the them swerving dangerously close to one of the multi-storey buildings above the Astartes. Above their heads, carved into the bowl of the asteroid, a great sprawl of urban poverty spread out, while a forest of skyscrapers and pylons speared into the vacuum. But the first thing Malleus had noticed since his entry into Omega was the music.

It was deep, throbbing stuff, fast paced, aggressive. There was something primal and heavy about it, a pounding of drums in ancient forests, something that one would jump and thrash and scream to. The source seemed to be a great, circular building that tapered upwards into the sky, its silvery flanks illuminated by orbiting holograms that proclaimed 'Afterlife' in deep crimson.

"This is the place?" Titus asked, a hint of disbelief on his voice. "The feared Pirate Queen of Omega holds court in a nightclub?"

"Looks more like a fortress," Malleus remarked, observing the fire positions and even what looked to be a small anti-air battery emplaced at certain strategic points on the roof and flanks of the building, all of them manned by grey-armoured mercs.

"T'Loak is pretty famous for her paranoia," Cyralius remarked.

"You don't become ruler of a city of criminals without making your fair share of enemies," Samara said.

"Your Justicar code isn't going to cause a problem in this meeting, is it?" Malleus asked.

"I am still bound by the oath that I made to you, Malleus," Samara said. "Besides, I believe that she is acting as a force for good on this station."

"You do?" Malleus asked. "She's still a pirate and a criminal, is she not?"

"Yes, but I was here less than ten years ago, before she took power," Samara said. "This is the richest part of Omega, but those vendors would've been terrified of setting up street stalls anywhere; now they feel they can do so in relative safety. She's organising an army, an infrastructure, and the city is already becoming safer, if only by a small margin."

"An organiser?" Malleus nodded. "Good. That's what I need."

There was a queue outside Afterlife, a line of people segregated from the rest of the crowd by a small squad of mercenaries, all of which probably answered to Aria, who were checking the line of hopeful guests; some were allowed entry and some turned away by the Krogan at the door.

"Hey, you," one of the mercenaries guarding the line said, pointing at Malleus.

"If this is about the incident in the docking bay, then go talk to my friend there," Malleus said, noticing the Turian's uniform was the same dark grey as the armour worn by the soldiers of fortune he'd encountered there. "I'm sure he and his gatling gun would be eager to get acquainted with you."

"Nah," the Turian said. "Aria T'Loak wants to talk to you. You don't want to keep her waiting. Head up to the top level of the main floor, she'll speak to you there."

He gestured them through the door, ignoring the angry protests from some of those in the queue, and Malleus and his companions stepped into Afterlife.

The first thing that hit them was the noise. Not only was the music at its loudest here, but there was the sound of shouted conversations, orders at the various bars around the place, a few argument and angry threats; Malleus' enhanced ears picked up random scraps of conversation, mangled meaningless words that meant nothing without their context. The second thing was the light; strobe lights over the dance floor, and a great cone of orange stretching towards the ceiling, a massive hologram around which dancers plied their trade on platforms and balconies. The air of Afterlife stank; a potent mixture of body odour, smoke, spilled drinks and urine assaulted Malleus' nose, his suite of fearsomely potent senses almost overwhelmed. Both Cyralius and Titus looked equally uncomfortable, and even Samara had wrinkled her nose slightly in response to the smell.

"That must be place over there," Malleus said, nodding towards a balcony that stood over the club like a pulpit. A pair of Krogan guards stood at the bottom of the steps up to it, cradling shotguns in their arms, and they nodded as Malleus approached, the Astartes drawing a good deal of stares and

"Aria T'Loak's expecting you," one of them said. "Go on up."

Malleus nodded to them as they stood aside, moving up the steps, before he was halted once more by a Batarian.

"Give your weapons over," the xenos ordered briskly.

"Can't do that," Malleus said. "I'm keeping my weapons." 

"Nobody gets to see Aria when armed," the Batarian replied. "Now hand them over." 

"Let them through, Arix," another voice ordered from behind the Batarian, and the xenos seemed to bristle for a moment before saying; "Yes, ma'am."

The Batarian stepped aside, glowering at them, and Malleus stepped into the inner sanctum of the Pirate Queen of Omega.

The Asari that lounged on the couch before them smiled mirthlessly as they entered the balcony. Her skin was a deep shade of bluish purple, while geometric black tattoos formed spines across her forehead and Her clothes had a simple military cut to them; for somebody with such a romanticised, extravagant title, Aria seemed to dress simply, the only sign of excess being the cocktail she held in one hand. But it was her eyes that were her most striking feature; intensely focussed, assessing, taking in everything and giving nothing away.

The noise here seemed to dim, probably thanks to the kinetic barrier that shimmered near-invisibly along the edge of the balcony, and Aria motioned for Malleus to sit on the couch running along its perimeter.

"You are an interesting man, Malleus Scandarum," she said. "You turn up on Ilium out of nowhere, and the first thing you and your friends do is kill your way through some of the best troops of the most expensive, best equipped, most elite private security firms in the galaxy without seeming to break a sweat. Next thing that happens is that the Council panics, naturally, and then calls you in. You give some big fancy speech, scare the hell out of everyone present just by being there, get yourself declared a separate species, convince everybody you're from outside the galaxy and then just drop off the radar. And now you turn up in the spaceship of a dead Spectre who won't stay down and then get yourself free docking just by threatening to kill a couple of my guards with a sword."

Here she laughed, shaking her head.

"A sword!" she said. "You've got better tech than anything I've ever seen before, yet you're using a hammer and a sword!"

She leant back in her seat before saying; "What happened to Shephard, by the way?"

"He's dead," Malleus replied. "For good, this time."

Aria tutted.

"A pity," she said. "I liked him; did me a few favours, sorted out a few troubles of mine. Made some dangerous and inconvenient people a lot less dangerous and inconvenient." 

"No doubt you're going to be asking me how I got hold of his ship next," Malleus said.

"You're involved with Cerberus, aren't you?" Aria asked. "Don't look so shocked, I've got a damn good network of spies and not even the Illusive Man is out of my reach. Besides, you're big news, Malleus, hard to miss. I doubt I'm the only one keeping an eye on you. But enough pleasantries. What do you want, Malleus?"

"Your help," Malleus said. "I'm trying to gather an army, and I believe you might just have what I'm looking for."

"What, soldiers? Please, Malleus, this is Omega. The closest we've got to a government are our protection rackets."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Malleus said. "Everybody knows that there's power in Omega, a fleet and an army of degenerates and pirates and scum, and all it needs is somebody who's already at the top of the pile to harness it. Someone such as, say, an Asari who's managed to wrest power away from the mercenary bands and the old crime lords, get herself an army bigger than any that private firms can muster in a short time and call upon every pirate and freebooter in the Terminus systems. An Asari like that could raise a much bigger army without much effort, I would think. Wouldn't you?"

Aria leant back in her seat, taking a sip from her drink, before saying; "This is about those Reapers you were going on about in that Council meeting the other day, isn't it?"

"How did you know that?" Malleus asked. "I thought that was supposed to be a private meeting."

"Please, Malleus, my spies have got into parts of Cerberus," Aria replied, smiling slightly. "The Council is small fry compared to that. And, of course, just yesterday, you helped subdue Clan Morroh on Tuchanka, and you're already good friends with Clan Urdnot, who are, of course, now running the show there. What are you doing, Malleus? Gathering an army?"

"I am indeed," Malleus said. "Despite what the council may pretend, the Reapers are real, and I intend to stop them. If I can gather at least something of an army then we stand a better chance."

"And if, for the sake of argument, I somehow managed to get all of Omega's people under my control, what would be in it for me?" Aria asked.

"Heroism, redemption," Malleus said. "And most importantly, exemption. Let's face it, Aria, you want power, and more power than just ruling some run-down asteroid from a nightclub. You want planets to bend to your will, you want parliaments to listen to your decrees, you want diplomats flocking to your throne with offers of placation and gifts, but that's not going to happen when to the rest of the galaxy you're public enemy number one."

There was a long silence, Aria looking at him carefully, before she said; "You know when I said earlier that you were an interesting man, Malleus?"

"Yes."

"I'm taking that back. You're quite possibly the most interesting person I've ever me," Aria said. "And I like that. But much as I like you, that's still a pretty big promise you're making. How do I know you can keep it?"

"Because unless I'm very much mistaken, there will be an immense and very bloody war coming," Malleus said. "And that will probably leave a power vacuum. And with the right application of endorsement from certain figures, the people of this galaxy will view you as a hero; they'll practically beg for you to take power. Isn't it temping, Aria? Don't you want to be viewed as more than just some glorified pirate admiral? What about President Aria T'Loak of the Asari republics? Don't tell me that isn't a enticing prospect."

"That it is," Aria said. "But that's still a damn big promise you're making. Even if you're going to keep your word, it's still a pretty big if."

"Meaning?" Malleus asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know about these Reapers," Aria said. "And frankly, I'm tied up with enough trouble here as it is. But you seem pretty serious, Malleus, and I'm usually good at telling whether or not somebody is lying. So I'll think about it. If these Repers do come along, then fine, I'll help you with them. But if they don't then you'll have wasted my time and I'll be pissed off. And you wouldn't like that."

Malleus just smiled, a smile without mirth, with a dangerous edge to it.

"Believe me, Aria, making an enemy of me would be a very bad idea indeed," Malleus said. "If I so wished, I could take this station apart with my bare hands. I could slaughter its inhabitants and burn their homes by myself, and however time consuming it would be, nothing you can do would stop me. I've slaughtered more creatures than you've cared to count, heretical and traitorous versions of myself, xenos wielding weapons so advanced that they make your own look like mere sticks and rocks, endless hordes of chitinous beasts from beyond the galaxy and soulless abominations that lurk outside of reality itself. So forgive me for not being too intimidated about threats of revenge from some band of freebooters."

Aria leant back in her chair, looking at him with a mixture of respect, fear and anger.

"You know what happened to the last guy who threatened me?" she asked. "I had Arix here chuck him out of an airlock and I watched him choke." 

"Try that with me and all your guards, and you, will be dead in a minute," Malleus said. "But to be honest, Aria, you're more useful to me alive, so let's try and avoid any unpleasantness, shall we?"

"Agreed," Aria said. "There anything else you want, Malleus?"

"One thing," Malleus said. "I'm looking for an Asari, an Ardat Yakshi. I was wondering if there've been any deaths that might have been the work of one."

"Yes, there've been a few," Aria said.

"Hold a moment," Samara said, frowning in concern. "You knew there was an Ardat Yakshi on Omega yet you've done nothing?"

"Why would I?" Aria asked. "She's no real threat to me. If you want to look into it, though, her last victim was a girl named Nef; you got an omni tool?"

Malleus nodded.

"Good," Aria said, flicking up one of her own. "Here's her address; start looking there. If you want to go after that thing, that's fine by me." 

"Glad to hear," Malleus said. "Thank you for your time, Aria T'Loak."

"Yeah," Aria said. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Malleus."

"I'm sure you will be," Malleus said, before nodding to the Asari. "Ave Imperator."

Aria shrugged, before just saying; "I just hope you haven't wasted my time."

"Believe me, Aria, I haven't," Malleus said "When the time comes, you'll see."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6-Cat and Mouse

They parted ways outside of Afterlife, Titus and Cyralius heading back towards the Normandy, while Miranda and Samara took a different route, through the crowds and into the rest of the city. Malleus' power armoured bulk cleared a path through the bustling mass of people without there being any need to push, humans and xenos alike simply stepping around him.

"This is a cruel place," Samara murmured as they went through the streets. "Many people come here hoping to build themselves better lives, only to find poverty and crime. I might return here if we defeat the Reapers; these people need a guardian."

"_If_ we defeat the Reapers?" Malleus asked, tone gently reprimanding. "You've such little faith in me?"

Samara smiled.

"Your optimism does you credit, Malleus," she said.

"Not optimism," Malleus replied. "Certainty."

Samara nodded, before saying; "This is the place."

The building was a small one, part of a cluster of hab units that seemed to make up this block of Omega. It was quieter here, but more run down than the area that housed Afterlife; probably close enough within Aria's sphere of power to have the odd mercenary patrol.

Malleus knocked on the heavy bulkhead that served as a front door to the place, and a woman's voice crackled from the vox-speaker built in to the wall next them.

"Hello?"

"Is the home of a young woman named Nef?" Malleus asked.

"It was," the voice said. "Who is it?"

"My name is Malleus, and I have a companion with me named Samara," Malleus replied. "Can we come in, please?"

"Why?"

"We wish to talk about Nef," Samara said.

"She's dead. Leave me alone, please."

"We are trying to find her killer," Malleus said. "We wish to bring her to justice."

"You…you do? Alright, come in." 

The door slid aside, and a middle aged woman stood in the doorway. She looked tired, and a little frightened, and she put a hand to her mouth when she saw Malleus, nearly seven feet in his power armour.

"May we come in?"

"Of course, yes. I was just a little surprised, that's all."

She stepped away, and Malleus ducked under the door frame into the woman's home. It was a simple place, a kitchen and living space in one room, a few more doors set into the walls, no doubt leading to other parts of her home. It was a clean home, nonetheless, and Malleus could appreciate the humble simplicity of the place.

"You're really an Astarte?" the woman asked as Malleus stepped in. "I saw you on the news. You're their leader, aren't you?"

"It's 'Astartes,' but yes, I am," Malleus said. "I am pleased to meet you…"

"Diana," the woman said. "I'm Nef's mother."

"I see," Malleus said, nodding his head respectfully. "I am sorry about what happened to your daughter."

"Thank you," Diana said quietly. "That means a lot to me, even if it's just from a stranger."

"Do we mind if we talk to you about your daughter?" Samara asked.

"If it helps you find her killer, then please, do," Diana said. "Nobody else is doing anything about it, though I shouldn't expect any better from Omega. Do you want to sit down? I'm afraid my chairs probably can't hold your weight, sir, but they should be fine for you, Samara."

"I'll be happy to stand," Malleus said, as Diana and Samara sat around the small kitchen table in the room. "And please, just call me Malleus."

'Sir.' That was interesting, though not unusual; plenty of guardsmen that he had fought with over the years had called him by the Gothic equivalent of that title, or sometimes just 'my lord.' He supposed it was his stature; Astartes were intimidating, even at the best of times, and subservience seemed, to many people, the natural attitude to adopt.

"Diana," Samara said. "Do you mind telling us exactly what happened to Nef before she died?" 

Diana nodded.

"She went, about a week ago, to that club a few blocks away, Afterlife," she said. "And when she came back, she said she'd met this Asari called Morinth. She suddenly became obsessed with her; she kept going back to Afterlife, and the rest of the time she was tired and distracted. All she would talk about was Morinth, and that was the only time she ever seemed to wake up. And then suddenly, she…she died. The doctors said it was some sort of brain aneurism, but I don't think it was. That Asari, that Morinth, killed her. I don't know how, but she did."

She shook her head.

"She was a good girl," she said, her eyes glistening. "She didn't take drugs, she didn't hang out with anybody dangerous, she just kept to herself and worked on her sculptures. She didn't…she didn't deserve…"

Malleus gently placed his hand on her shoulder, the servos in the ceramite gauntlet that encased it whining gently as they made sure his grip wasn't enough to crush her collarbone.

"I know what it is to lose a child," he said, words which he felt were half true. He still felt unsure about Gaius; could he truly call him a son? He didn't honestly know. "I know the pain you are in. And while it is little consolation, I promise you that I will find the woman who killed your daughter and I will bring her to justice."

"You will?"

"You have my word."

"Thank you," Diana said. "I know nobody else will, and it's good to see someone who cares."

"Diana," Samara said. "Do you mind if we look in Nef's room for clues as to what exactly happened, and where we can find her killer?"

Diana nodded.

"I left it as it was before she died," she said. "I don't want to lose anything."

"And we shall treat it was the greatest of care," Samara said. "Nothing will be disturbed."

"It's through there," Diana said, pointing to one of the doors in the kitchen. "Please be careful."

"We shall," Malleus said.

He stepped through the wooden door, into a modest, Spartan bedroom, one that smelt faintly of dust. There was a meticulously made bed tucked into one corner, while a desk or workbench stood against the far wall. There were several shelves along some of the walls, occupied by sculptures, small, simple, elegant things carved from onyx, marble, granite or moulded from clay. On the desk, next to a hammer and set of chisels, a half completed one sat, an elegant wing emerging from the white stone.

"Young Nef had quite a talent, it seems," Malleus remarked as Samara entered the room behind him.

"That isn't surprising," Samara said. "Morinth has always been attracted to artists and creative souls."

"Why is that?" Malleus asked.

"I'm not sure," Samara answered. "Perhaps she feels she gains more power by destroying imaginative minds."

"Perhaps," Malleus said. He paused as he noticed a holo-slate on Nef's desk. He flicked it on, and looked at the message it contained.

_Nef_ it read. _You won't believe what I've found. You know that Elcor sculptor you and I love so much, Forta? He's released pictures of some of the things he's going to put in his exhibition on the Citadel, and they're amazing! I've attached them to this message so you can see them for yourself; maybe they'll inspire you to make some more of your great sculptures as well? :)_

Probably a message from Morinth, Malleus decided. Interesting, but not much use.

The only other thing of note in the room was a small portable cogitator. He pressed the on button, and the devices' holographic screen flicked on, the text reading; 'Nef's Diary. Password: '

Malleus was thwarted. If he had Kullas with him, the Forge Priest could probably break through such simple security in a heartbeat, and while the Brother-Captain could placate the machine spirits of his armour or weapons, knew the name for every part of his bolter and could even perform basic repairs on any of the vehicles that the Sons had in their arsenal, software left him at a loss. He thought of what Nef could use as a password, before trying 'Sculpture.' The only thing that came up was a message of a rejection, so he tried 'Chisel' instead. Once more, nothing happened, before he went out on a limb and tried 'Morinth.' The screen flashed green for a moment, a message winking up to inform him that his attempt had been accepted, and Malleus couldn't help but reflect that there was something somewhat sad about that.

He looked at the list of entries that was presented to him, before trying one of the later ones, the second down from the top of the list. The text disappeared to show the face of a young woman; she looked like Diana, if younger, her hair the same colour, facial shape very similar.

"Dear diary," she said, a smile of excitement on her face. "You won't believe what happened tonight. I got into Afterlife's VIP area by dropping Jaruut's name to the bouncer there. I was a little nervous when I went in at first, but then I saw this Asari dancing on the place's dancefloor. She was just amazing to watch, and then she just came up to me and asked if I wanted to dance with her. I just said yes, before I could think, and then we were dancing together. And I don't know why I was nervous! It was great! She said her name was Morinth, and we started talking. She found out I was a sculptor, and she got really interested, said she loved art, and we really hit it off. We're meeting up again in the same place, tomorrow night, and I can't wait!"

The log ended, and Malleus selected the final entry.

"Dear diary," Nef said to the camera once again. "I met up with Morinth again last night in Afterlife. I tried these pills, this stuff called Hallex, and we started to dance together again, and it was even more amazing than last night. All the music, and the Hallex, and the fact Morinth was there, they all kind of blended into one, and I could almost feel the music as I danced with her. It was the most amazing thing I've ever done! We're meeting up again tonight, and I think she's going to take me to her apartment. I think I'm in love with her, you know. We're going to get off Omega, and we're going to go to one of the fancier places in the galaxy; Ilium, or Earth, or the Citadel, and we'll make a living selling my sculptures. It'll be perfect, I just know it. Anyway, goodbye diary, I've got to go and start making myself look good for tonight!"

The entry finished, and Malleus frowned. In love with a xenos; the idea seemed sordid to him, unthinkable, but he supposed it was a different galaxy. Different standards. It didn't make the idea any less repellent to him, though.

"That sounds like one of Morinth's victims," Samara said once the video had stopped playing. "She does that to people; makes them completely and utterly infatuated with her."

"That poor girl sounded pretty obsessed, Emperor watch over her soul," Malleus said, bowing his head and making the sign of the Aquila. "Still, we know where Morinth hunts now. What's the plan?"

"We lure her out and kill her," Samara said.

"I'd guessed as much," Malleus said. "But lure her out? Sounds like we'd need bait."

Samara nodded.

"And that would be me, wouldn't it?" Malleus asked, tone suggesting he didn't relish the prospect.

"I'm afraid you're our only chance of getting close," Samara said.

"So what do you suggest, that I lure her in and do what, seduce her?" Malleus asked. "Samara, with all due respect, we Astartes are celibate. I've never tried to charm a woman before in my life. Besides, I'm a warrior; she's attracted to artists, you said so yourself. And on top of that, I'm famous, so she'd be too cautious to approach, wouldn't she?"

"I don't know about that," Samara said. "To her, you're something new, something she hasn't tried before, and she'll be sorely tempted by someone famous. And a warrior you may be, but you're an artist as well, you know"

"The closest things I've ever made to art are formation diagrams and battle maps," Malleus said. "Frankly, I doubt I can even manage to draw a decent stick figure."

"You're not an artist in a traditional sense, but you're an artist of the battlefield," Samara said. "As you said to me, you are war; you kill with more grace and skill than anything I've ever seen before, and she'll be able to see that ability within you. But you should be careful, Malleus; she is a dangerous creature. She is able to promise you many things; her eyes speak of intelligence and wit greater than that of any other person you'll encounter, her voice speaks words you wish to hear again and again, her scent is a perfume that will make you desire her more than anything else, and her body promises you great pleasure, providing you prove worthy. She controls people, Malleus, hypnotises them, makes herself a goddess in their eyes."

"She sounds less like a person and more like some sort of sorceress," Malleus remarked, unable to not think of the heretical servants of Slaanesh.

"There's an old legend that says the first Ardat Yakshi were created by Asari who used magic to summon demons and then bonded with them, you know," Samara said. "Not true, I don't think, but an interesting comparison you make."

Malleus nodded

"Anyway," he said. "Let's go find our Ardat Yakshi."

#

Malleus felt vulnerable without his power armour. The thought was ridiculous, he knew, as he moved through the crowd of Afterlife, but somehow without the ceramite shell that had been as constant a companion to him as his battle brothers he felt less secure. He didn't doubt that he was the most dangerous thing in the room, of course, but he felt disquieted nonetheless. The only part of his armour that remained was his bionic, which could punch through steel; that was reassuring enough, in itself.

He reached the door which had a hologram above it saying 'VIPs only,' and the Turian bouncer standing guard there said; "What do you want?"

"I've been having a pretty good time here this evening," Malleus said casually. "But I heard from Jaruut that the best party's in here."

The Turian nodded, before saying; "You heard right. Head on through, and enjoy your night."

The xenos pressed a button in the wall next to him, and the door slid open, and it nodded Malleus through.

The room Malleus entered was a great deal smaller than the last, and even with his enhanced hearing the noise from the rest of Afterlife was shut off. The music here was different, the dancefloor less crowded, while tables were set into the alcoves around the wall. The brother-captain entered the room, feeling a little unsure of what to do, before somebody said; "Hey, big guy. Over here."

He glanced over to see a scrawny young man gesturing to him, and he approached and asked; "Yes?"

"Hey, mister, can I ask you a favour?" hesked "You got any tickets to Expel Ten?"

"To what?"

"Expel Ten. You haven't heard of them?"

Malleus shook his head.

"They're this sensory band, really, really good stuff, gets in your head and messes it around," the young man said. "Anyway, there was this real hot Asari chick in here talking about how much she liked them, and they're playing on Omega in a few days. If I could get some tickets, I could score way out my league, y'know what I mean?"

Malleus had no idea what he meant, but judging by the look of infatuation in the man's eyes, he could have been put under whatever spell Morinth used was reputed to use on people; it was the same sort of look Nef had worn when talking about Morinth in her diary. Expel Ten, he thought to himself. A sensory band. He'd do well to remember that.

"No tickets, I'm afraid," he said, shrugging.

"Damn! Well, thanks anyway, mister. Just have to try to get 'em somewhere else. Keep it cool."

He held out a fist, and for a moment, Malleus hesitated, unsure what to do, before he remembered that it was some sort of salute among young people of this galaxy and gently knocked his fist against that of his newfound ally.

He wandered away, and realised that he had never felt so incredibly out of place in all his life. Here he was, a hero of the Imperium, lauded with more medals and accolades than he cared to count, and he felt completely and utterly lost. He had dictated the flow entire battlefields, locking wits with some of the most abhorrent and cunning of humanity's enemies, but he knew nothing of what he should do next. What was one supposed to do here? Dance, obviously, but he wasn't sure if he'd be any good at that, and he seemed pretty sure that making a fool of himself in public would probably make him a far less tempting catch to Morinth, if she could see him.

He contented himself with ordering a drink from the bar, and surveyed the room with a careful eye, taking a sip from the cocktail he held, the drink an alarming shade of green. His enhanced vision could pick out more than a dozen Asari, but none of them, as far as he could tell from this distance at least, bore any resemblance to Samara.

The Krogan at the end the bar caught his gaze, and snarled suddenly, swaggering towards him.

"What're you looking at, human?" the xenos asked as it reached him, the scent of alcohol on its breath.

"Just looking around the bar," Malleus said calmly, taking a sip from his drink. "Is there a problem?"

"Don't act smart," the Krogan said, a low growl in its voice. "You were looking at me funny."

"I really don't think I was," Malleus replied, his tone still even. "I reckon you should probably calm down, friend."

"I'm not your friend," the Krogan snarled. The xenos raised a fist, and it swept downwards, only to be halted by a whirring noise and Malleus' bionic moving into its path. Its fist suddenly halted, and no amount of force looking able to move it, the xenos suddenly went pale as Malleus gently gripped it.

"You know," he said, tone still calm and conversational. "I think that, if I wanted to, I could probably squeeze with enough force to turn every bone in your hand to powder."

He squeezed a little harder, and there was the sound of bone grinding together, the Krogan clenching its teeth in pain.

"But I'm a kind, civilised person, so I'll let you go so these good bouncers here can escort you from the premises in an orderly fashion," Malleus continued, nodding to the Batarian and human that were moving towards them. He released his grip just as they arrived, and the Krogan grunted, rubbing its hand gingerly.

"Come on," the Batarian said. "Get outta here."

The Krogan glared resentfully at Malleus, who smiled back, before the human grabbed its humped shoulders and led it away; the xenos seemed too humiliated to put up a fight.

"Sorry about that, sir," the Batarian said, shrugging its shoulders apologetically.

"Not a problem," Malleus said. "Just glad to see you're willing to deal with troublemakers. Keep up the good work."

The Batarian nodded to him, and left.

"Well, that was interesting," a voice next to him said, and Malleus glanced over to see an Asari leaning on the bar next to him. She smiled coyly at him, before continuing; "My name's Morinth; I've had my eye on you since you came in. I've got a table over in the corner, away from the crowd. Care for a bit of a chat?" 

"Sounds good," Malleus said, secretly smiling. Mentally, he clicked the vox bead implanted in his ear thrice, his signal to Samara, who was waiting outside. Target found. "Malleus."

They sat down at a table in the shadows of the bar, and Morinth said; "I come here almost every night, you know, looking for somebody interesting. A lot of the time, I get nothing, but sometimes I find someone, like you, Malleus. What are you doing here, though? I thought you were supposed to be some sort of species representative for the Council?"

"Yes, I am," Malleus said. Part of him was wondering if he could get away with breaking the girl's neck and simply killing his way out of Afterlife, but he decided such action probably wouldn't endear him much in Aria's eyes, and he needed her support for the war to come. "But sometimes I just want a good time away from prying eyes."

Morinth smiled at this.

"I know what you mean," she said. "I like privacy; dark places where I can watch without being seen. But tell me, Malleus, what do you want?"

"At the moment?" Malleus asked. A curious question, that one. "As I said; a good time. Just relax a bit, and let my hair down."

"What hair?" Morinth pointed out, nodding to his shaven scalp, and Malleus laughed quietly.

"Good point."

There was a quiet silence between them, and not wanting it to become awkward, Malleus asked; "So tell me, Morinth, what do you think of the music in the place?"

"I love it," Morinth replied. "It's dark, atmospheric, it crawls under your skin. Sensory stuff; it's great, don't you think?"

Malleus nodded, before saying; "I've got to say, I quite like that sensory band Expel Ten."

"Really? You've got good taste, Malleus."

"Why thank you."

"They're playing here in a couple of days, you know," Morinth said. "Maybe you and I should go together."

"That would be cool," Morinth said. "Sometimes I spend the entire night dancing to stuff like this, you know, just getting caught up in the music. Of course, there are ways to enhance that, make the experience better, get it deeper and deeper into your head."

"You talking about certain substances, by any chance?" Malleus asked.

"Judging me?"

"Not at all," Malleus replied as he leant back. His bionic whirred as he rested it against the top of the wide couches set into the wall that served as the tables seats. "I've always been willing to try something new."

Morinth's eyes flickered to the augmetic limb, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Why've you got part of that armour of yours on?" she asked.

"Oh, this?" Malleus replied, flexing the limb to show it off. "It's artificial. I lost my real arm some time ago."

"Wow," Morinth said. "How did that happen?" 

"A Thresher Maw," Malleus lied. "I was exploring a desert world that wasn't as deserted as I thought." 

"You travel a lot, then?" Morinth asked.

"Oh yes," Malleus said. "I enjoy exploring quite a lot."

"Really? Scanning deserted worlds for interesting lumps of rock and bacteria?" Morinth asked, a slightly mocking smile on her face.

"Oh, there's a bit of that," Malleus said. "But then there's the chance of finding wonder, of finding beauty, and of finding danger that keep me going. Always been a weakness of mine, you know; never quite being sure exactly who, or what, lurks around the next corner, what you might find on the next world and whether or not it'll be dangerous."

"You like to live on the edge, huh?" Morinth asked. "You know, you're a much more interesting man than I first though you'd be. Much different to the person I saw in the Council meeting."

"That? That's an act," Malleus lied. "The Council are damn terrified of me and the others, so we act nice and put them at their ease; makes life simpler for us."

Morinth nodded, before saying with a somewhat suggestive look in her eye; "Hey, Malleus, do you want to continue this conversation somewhere…more private."

"That," Malleus said. "Sounds like a great idea." 

He clicked the vox bead four times, and got a return click. Bait taken. Prey right in the trap.

Remarkably easy, too.

#

"Nice place you've got here," Malleus remarked as the door to Morinth's apartment slid aside. It was clean, the work of servants, he suspected, and scattered with expensive looking furniture and artwork. "You're quite the connoisseur of the arts, I see."

"I've always had a weakness for it," Morinth said as she stepped inside. "Are you interested in art, Malleus?"

"Well, I haven't been here too long to really get a taste for this galaxy's art," Malleus said as he followed the xenos. He noticed a piece of sculpture on a windowsill, the tortured vista of Omega visible beyond, one that looked rather similar to some of Nef's, and he bit back the urge to strike the xenos before him straight away; he would allow Samara that satisfaction. "The work where I'm from is rather different, but I've always had a soft spot for sculpture, and I do quite like the work of an Elcor artist I saw not long ago, Forta. I'd be quite interested in seeing the exhibition he's holding on the Citadel soon, you know."

Morinth smiled at this as she leant on a couch. Malleus sat next to her, noticing the board on the table in front of them.

"You play regicide?" he asked.

"Oh yes," Morinth replied. "Though we call it chess. I'm quite good, you know, and there's something so very satisfying about luring an opponent in, thinking he's got you helpless, and moving in for the kill when he least expects it."

"I know that feeling," Malleus said, noting the hint of relish in the Asari's voice. "Nothing quite so pleasing as taking an opponent by surprise. Perhaps we should play a game sometime."

"Maybe," Morinth said, before sliding closer to Malleus. She looked into his eyes, smiling in a predatory fashion, before saying; "But why don't we have a little fun?"

She blinked, and the world…changed. His vision seemed to reverse, the vibrant becoming dim and the dim becoming dazzling whorls of colour, but something had happened to Morinth herself; her eyes were deep black pits, her skin seeming to glow with some sort of unnatural power, and Malleus could feel the bitter, metallic taste of the warp in his mouth. So that was what Morinth was; a psyker. Not just a biotic, but a psyker as well.

"Do you not want me?" she whispered in a voice layered with thousands of tones. "Do you not want to serve me? Wouldn't you just love to do everything I ask you? That would complete you, make you whole, Malleus. Love me, Malleus, serve me. Worship me."

Her voice was thick with hypnotic power, rife with some unnatural, Warp fuelled energy, a sheer tide of overwhelming psychic might that would crush any mind that tried to resist and replace it with nought but blind devotion. And against the adamantium fastness of Malleus' psychoconditioned mind, it hit with the force of a tidal wave.

And it broke.

"You must think you're so very clever, Morinth," Malleus said, smiling mirthlessly. "You think you had me from the start, didn't you? But I know you for what you are, Ardat Yakshi. Your days of killing have gone on long enough. They end now."

The spell shattered as Morinth panicked, the colours of the world returning to normal as she scrambled away from him, terror in her eyes. Malleus stood, kicking away the table, scattering the chess pieces across the floor, and he advanced towards the Asari, cracking his knuckles.

"Suffer not the-"

The bolt of biotic force caught him straight in the chest and hurled him away, and he slammed into the wall with a grunt. Morinth stood, biotic energy coruscating around her form, before she said; "Keep back! Keep away from me!"

Something invisible grabbed her, some unseen hand picking her up and slamming her into the window, a spiderweb of cracks spreading across the hardened glass, and Samara entered the room. 

"Mother!" Morinth exclaimed, panic in her voice as she lay pinned against the window. "What are you-"

Some invisible force struck her in the jaw, and Samara replied; "Do not address me with that title. The daughter I had is dead. Though you wear her face, you are not her. You are simply some monster I must kill."

"I can't help what I am, _mother_," Morinth replied. She pushed back, breaking out of Samara's biotic grip and landing in time to block the Justicar's next assault. "I am still your daughter."

Morinth retaliated, a barrage of biotic bolts arcing across the room only to be dissipated by Samara, who returned with a single immense blast of power. Morinth threw up her arms, crossing them to block the force, even as it pushed her back across the floor. She retaliated with some sort of beam, just as Samara created one of her own, and the two biotic assaults smashed into each other. A stalemate reigned as mother battled daughter, the excess dark energy randomly picking up pieces of furniture, the scattered chess set, slowly swirling around them in some surreal, azure storm.

"Don't bother, mother," Morinth called out mockingly over the noise of the battle. "I'm the future of the Asari. I'm the next step in our species' evolution. You can't fight the future!"

"You're a murderess and a monster," Samara replied. "You must die. Malleus, strike now!"

Malleus picked himself up, the wind knocked from him, and approached the battle.

"I can be useful to you, Malleus," Morinth said. "I'm as powerful as she is; let me kill her and I'll be stronger than she'll ever be."

The brother captain stepped up to the biotic duel, ducking under the corona of force that surrounded it, before standing next to Samara.

"Go on," Morinth said encouragingly. "Throw her down. Let me take her power."

Malleus remained silent, calmly walking towards Morinth. Panic showed in the Asari's eyes; if she tried to deal with him, Samara would sweep her away in a moment, but if she did nothing then Malleus would be her undoing.

Instead, she opted to shuffle back, gathering reserves of power and plucking one of the pieces of furniture from the air, slamming it towards Samara. The Justicar managed to block it before it could cause serious injury, but it was enough to break her hold in the duel. Morinth raised her arm to deal with Malleus, but he was Astartes; like lightning he moved, grabbing her arm before she could react, and throwing her to the floor.

She gave a gasp of pain, and managed to murmur; "Please."

"Morinth," Malleus said replied, eyes cold and unfeeling as flint. "What you have done is unforgivable. You shall brook no mercy from me."

He nodded to Samara, who had come to stand next to him.

"Justicar," he said. "Finish this."

"Find peace in the embrace of the Goddess, Morinth."

"No, please, I…"

Her neck snapped beneath Samara's foot before she could finish her reply.

The Justicar stepped back from Morinth's body, her head held low, unable to tear her gaze away from the daughter she had just slain.

"It is done," she said quietly. "Three centuries of hunting, and finally she is dead."

"Are you alright?" Malleus asked gently.

"Malleus, I just killed the bravest and cleverest of my daughters," Samara said. "Do you think I am alright?"

Malleus was silent for a moment, before he said; "It was a foolish question. I apologise."

"Don't. I know you meant well. Please, let's leave this place. It has caused me enough pain already."

The turned away, heading towards the door, before Samara stopped for a moment.

"And Malleus?" she asked.

"What?"

"Thank you."


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7-Prophecy

It was morning on the Normandy's day-night cycle, and Malleus was shaving. With utmost care, he guided the razor, an old cut-throat design, one that he had always favoured in the Imperium but had had a good deal of trouble obtaining in the pathetic, safety-obsessed galaxy that he now lived in, across his chin. Carefully, the crop of stubble that had sprung up while he had been in hyper-sleep was culled, each sweep bringing up a bale of facial hair and foam, before the blade was rinsed and the process repeated.

The door hissed and slid aside as Titus entered the men's washroom of the Normandy, the veteran marine greeting him with; "Morning, Malleus."

"Good morning, Titus," Malleus replied warmly, inspecting part of his freshly shaved chin.

"You sound in a good mood today," Titus remarked. "That's unusual."

Malleus chuckled, before saying; "That I am."

"Why's that?"

"I have no assignments for today," he said. "For the first time since New London, I think I don't actually have anything on my to-do list. No life-or-death battles to fight, no daring acts of heroics, no personal tragedies on the crew to sort out. I actually quite like the idea."

"It does seem rather refreshing, doesn't it?" Titus said. "What's the plan?"

"As of yet, I'm not sure," Malleus said. "No doubt the Illusive Man might have something for me to do soon enough, or some other crisis will come up, but for this moment I am a man without worry."

EDI's hologram suddenly winked into existence, and Malleus started for a moment in surprise.

"Emperor almighty, EDI, is there anywhere on this ship where you can't appear?" he asked.

"The Illusive Man ordered that my suites of projectors and sensors be present on all parts of the ship, so that I might see and hear everywhere," EDI replied. Titus raised an eyebrow to Malleus. "But I must warn you that an emergency has occurred on the crew deck."

"What sort of emergency?" Malleus asked, hurriedly removing the foam from his chin with a towel.

"It concerns Cyralius," EDI said. "He appears to be having some sort of seizure on the crew deck."

Titus and Malleus shared a glance, worry writ across both their features, before Malleus hurriedly pulled his shirt on, tucked the razor into his pocket just in case, and left the washroom at a full sprint, Titus in his tracks. They skidded to a halt on the crew deck but a moment later, and it was there that they saw Cyralius.

The Librarian's eyes glowed with unearthly power, and he floated a foot into the air, head arced back, staring at the ceiling, the air reeking of ozone. His hands clenched and unclenched, lightning crackling between his digits, and he seemed to shine, light that was painful to look upon threatening to burst from his skin.

Several members of the Normandy's crew stood around him, and Malleus noted that both Kullas and Okeen were present; Kullas' plasma cutter was humming with power, while Okeen had retrieved his bolt pistol from the armoury and had it pointed towards Cyralius' floating form.

"What's happening?" Malleus asked.

"No idea," Okeen said. "Just started floating. Should I administer the Emperor's Mercy? This could be dangerous."

"I don't know," Malleus said. "Hold a moment."

"Cyril!" Jack called, pushing through the small ring of people encircling the epistolary. She stepped towards him, reaching forwards, before Malleus grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "Let go of me!"

"Don't touch him," Malleus ordered.

"What? Why not? What the fuck's wrong with Cyril?"

"I'm not sure. But trying to wake him now could be dangerous."

Jack looked panicked, eyes flickering around the room for some sort of solution, Malleus' grip on her arm still holding firm. And then Cyralius spoke.

"Malice," he whispered, in a voice that seemed to echo itself. "I see malice. Malice ancient and hateful as the stars themselves."

He dropped to his feet, staring straight ahead, unseeing to all, eyes still aglow with witchlight. The lights above him seemed to dim, the glow around Cyralius' form brightening in its intensity, and Malleus blinked; the Warp-fuelled light wasn't that bright, but was painful to see, human eyes not mean to look upon its unnatural hue.

"It descends upon us," Cyralius exclaimed, the sound of his voice seeming to ripple and warp. "The Great Salvation has begun and all and none shall be spared. They see us now, a thousand minds, a thousand thousand arms, stretched forwards reaching to strangle us and bring the long dark and the long silence once more. Only the lightning of the angels of the storm stands shall illuminate the blackness, their thunder the only noise, yet their hate and their wrath is but young, and their foes are ancient as aeons. The cradle shall be the citadel, guarded by angels and a dead warrior who merely sleeps for he was never alive enough to die. The young machines shall oppose the old and the creators shall be destroyed and remade once more. The undying dead of the longest epoch shall find their end when the hourglass of death itself runs dry. Doom! Doom! I see it now, malice and hatred incarnate, come upon us, ancient as the stars themselves! The new is gone, soon the old shall follow, and all shall weep as a primeval truth is seen once more!"

The light winked out, the glow left, the stink faded, and Cyralius collapsed to his knees, eyes glazed and blank.

"Cyril!" Jack cried, rushing forward, breaking free of Malleus' grip and grabbing the Epistolary's shoulder. She shook it roughly, and Cyralius asked quietly; "What…what's going on?"

He looked up, confusion on his face, before he stood slowly.

"Are you alright, Cyril?" Jack asked.

"I think," Cyralius said quietly. "My head aches, and I feel as weak as a kitten, but apart from that, yes, I'm fine. What's happened, though? Okeen, why have you got your pistol out?" 

"Sorry," Okeen said, lowering the weapon, inclining his head apologetically.

"You don't remember?" Malleus asked.

"Clearly not, brother captain," Cyralius replied. "Why are you all pointing weapons at me?"

"You appeared to go undergo some sort of seizure," EDI said. "You then recited several lines of what appeared to be poetry."

"It was a prophecy," Titus said. "He was talking about the Reapers. He must have been."

"We were worried about possession or something similar," Malleus said. "I'm glad it wasn't the case, though what you're saying doesn't bode much better."

"What _was_ I saying?" Cyralius asked.

"As I said, prophecy," Titus repeated, shaking his head and making the Aquila. "Grim stuff. You yelled 'doom,' twice, and that's never a good sign."

"If you wish, I have a fully recorded version stored," EDI interjected. "If you believe that it is of a prophetic nature, then it may be wise to analyse it."

"A good point," Malleus said. "We'll move to the briefing room. Let's try and work this out." 

#

"'…_the cradle shall be the citadel, guarded by angels and a dead warrior who merely sleeps for he was never alive enough to die._"

"Cut it there, EDI," Malleus ordered. "That's our real clue as to what the Reapers are planning, I think. An assault on the Citadel."

Garrus nodded.

"It's what they planned to do two years ago, when Shephard and I tried to stop Saren," he said. "It's what they always do, apparently, make species dependent on the Mass Relays and have them use the Citadel as the centre of government, and keep them vulnerable. Then when they strike, they destroy their leaders, shut down the relays and keep planets cut off and without any guidance."

"Nasty tactic," Titus remarked. "But damned clever, I'll give them that."

"How'd you find that out?" Malleus asked.

"It was an old Prothean Virtual Intelligence," Miranda said. "Shephard discovered it when he was trying to stop Saren, and it told him exactly what had happened to the Protheans."

"What does it mean though, 'the cradle is the Citadel'?" Cyralius asked. "How could that be a cradle?" 

"Maybe it means shelter, or something like that?" Titus suggested. "You know, like how you'd put a baby in a cradle to keep it warm. Safe. Maybe it's supposed to mean, I don't know, that it's the safest place to be."

"Perhaps," Malleus said. "Regardless, all that you were saying about 'ancient malice' and how it's descending upon us suggests to me that we don't have much time. We should probably warn Admiral Anderson and General Suvat that the Reapers might be coming sooner than we expected."

"A good point," Miranda said. "EDI, send a message."

"I shall," EDI said.

"We believe that we may also have data to contribute," Legion added.

"What is it?" Malleus asked.

"It concerns Cyralius when he says; 'The young machines shall oppose the old and the creators shall be destroyed and remade once more.'" Legion said. "The title the Geth use to refer to the Reapers is 'Old Machines,' and it is plausible that Cyralius may have been talking of the Geth fighting the Reapers."

"I'd guessed as much," Malleus said. "Do you have anything new to add?"

"We are uncertain, but we believe that Cyralius may be talking of the extinction of the Quarians."

"What?" Tali exclaimed. "What do you mean?"

"Geth refer to the Quarians as the creators," Legion said. "'The creators shall be destroyed and remade once more,' suggests to us that they may be killed."

"What about the 'remade once more,' though?" Tali asked.

"We do not know," Legion said. "We stress that this purely theoretical, and hope Creator Zorah Vas Normandy is not caused too much distress by this idea."

"Too much distress?" Tali said. "You just said my people could be wiped out. What else am I supposed to think?"

"We did not anticipate this reaction," Legion said, hanging its head to try and indicate shame. "We apologise for causing you upset, and hope Creator Zorah Vas Normandy forgives us for this."

"I…fine," Tali said. "Apology accepted, Legion." 

"One thing I'm wandering about," Hullen said. "Is that line about that dead warrior who was never alive. The guarded by angels thing is talking about us, obviously, but what's that other bit about?"

"Sounds like sorcery to me," Kurias muttered, but no other ideas were forthcoming.

"Any suggestions on the rest of the prophecy?" Malleus asked, only to be greeted by another chorus of shook head and confessions of bafflement. "Fine. You're dismissed."

The group filed out, and Malleus could hear the quiet murmur of conversation as they went over what Cyralius said. The epistolary waited behind a moment, and Malleus glanced over to him, but he simply shrugged his shoulders and left with the rest of them.

"Captain," Joker said over the intercom. "The Illusive Man just contacted me. He says he wants a word with you. Should I patch him through?"

"Do it, helmsman," Malleus said, stepping away from the briefing room's table so it could slide into the floor. He stepped into the holographic mesh as it rose up, before the Illusive Man's chamber, and the man himself, came into view.

"Ave Imperator," Malleus said, saluting.

"Malleus," the Illusive Man said. "That was an interesting development just now."

"Indeed," Malleus said. "Did EDI send you a recording then?"

"She alerted me that something…unusual was happening to Cyralius, and I've been listening in since," the Illusive Man said. He leant back in his chair and lit a cigar, raising an eyebrow. "You seem pretty willing to take what he was saying as solid fact, all things considered."

"This wasn't just some seizure," Malleus said. "Cyralius is a psyker, and when a psyker speaks of the future only a fool ignores their words."

"I'll have to take your word for that," the Illusive Man said. "Still, I've got news for you."

"Good news?" Malleus asked. "So far the only good news I've received lately is that Wrex and the Krogan will help me with the Reapers, and that Aria might. Oh, and I received a message telling me that I won a free Sirta Foundation PV-14 Omni Tool, though I suspect that may have been fallacious."

"Good and bad, I'm afraid," the Illusive Man said, taking a puff from his cigar. "On one hand, we've managed to reverse engineer some potent shielding technology found on the Collectors' station, and better than that, its modular enough to fit on any ship; we've got in mass production and are offering it as a free upgrade to all Alliance ships."

"Make it available to any government that asks," Malleus said.

"What?" the Illusive Man asked. "That will completely negate any advantage it gives the Alliance."

"It will also give us a greater edge over the Reapers," Malleus said. "We need every ship we can throw against the Reapers, and if those shields allow them to fire off just a few more shots before they're destroyed then all the better."

The Illusive Man nodded.

"I'll see to it," he said. "And I'll make sure the Normandy gets a copy." 

"And what's your bad news?" Malleus asked.

"Cyralius was right," the Illusive Man said. "The Reapers are moving."

"What?"

"Do you remember the colony we picked you up from, New London? It was attacked, and completely and utterly destroyed."

"Unfortunate," Malleus said. "But how do we know it wasn't corsairs?"

"There was one survivor, a man called James Lien, of the Alliance military," the Illusive Man said. "One of our teams was shipping that shield tech through the New London relay, and picked up a distress beacon. They stopped off to investigate it, and picked him up. He talked about massive ships landing, destroying the colony with beam weapons. And so far, the only cases of beam weaponry we have documented are a few prototypes such as the Normandy's cannons, and Sovereign's weapons in the Battle of the Citadel. He said that there were soldiers that they sent down to destroy the colony, and that they purposefully spared him." 

"Why?"

"He said he had to leave a message."

"What message?"

"He didn't know, strangely enough. He just said that one of Reaper soldiers said that he would be the one to leave the message. He wasn't given anything."

"Oh Emperor," Malleus said. "He was the message. New London was the message. That was where we first appeared, that was where we first fought the Collectors, where we first caught the attentions of Harbinger. They're trying to frighten us, to strike at somewhere that might mean something to us."

"And are you?" the Illusive Man asked. "Because I would have thought that would just make you angry."

"Me? 'They shall know no fear, for they are fear incarnate.'"

Malleus cracked his knuckles.

"They've made their biggest mistake yet; I know they're coming, now. And more than that, they've made me angry."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8-Yamzarat Machtoro

Yamzarat Machtoro woke with a roar.

The walls to his stasis prison, trapping him in both place and time, faded out, and his sensors came online with a rush of data. Binary was fed into his great processors, and rapidly data was sorted, analysed and categorised. The data was what he had predicted it to be; stasis had been removed, and he was online.

Combat systems roused themselves and automatically activated shields, and data was fed to him from his weapon systems; the manually operated emplaced weapons were worthless without a crew to operate, and while he could divert CPU to override their security and target all of them under his own power, he would not be able to walk within permissible safety parameters a the same time. Fortunately, his main weapons arms were online; the great railgun on his right arm was without ammunition, but the heavy cannon in his left was still online, and at twenty point zero three two one percent of capacity. The missile launchers mounted within his shoulders were empty, but his creators should have provided ammunition elsewhere in the bunker.

Sensors fed yet more data from his environment to his processors, and alerted him of several dozen synthetics present in his chamber. No doubt they were the creatures that had deactivated the artificially generated biotic stasis that had held him in slumber, but they were artifical, non-organic. Slaves to the Almarach Ikmrin, no doubt.

He stepped forwards out of the great alcove that held him, the scaffold around his immense form clattering away as one of his feet came to rest on the ground. No signs of damage any more; his creators must have managed to repair that wound after he deactivated himself.

"Who wakes me?" he bellowed, the noise several hundred decibels in volume. "Who wakes Yamzarat Machtoro?"

The synthetic slave-beings chattered a reply in binary, but he ignored their pleas, all of which he knew would be false. They were slaves to the Almarach Ikmrin, and they would be destroyed.

A series of explosions ripped across the floor of the great chamber that housed him as he fired his cannon, smashing apart synthetic bodies, and he roared with laughter as he fired. Some of the pathetic creatures tried to fire back, but their miserably weak small arms fire was simply dispersed by his shields, and he struck them down as a god would smite the faithless.

He took another step forward, the concrete cracking beneath his weight, ground shaking. Scans for targets revealed nothing, and he roared in frustration. The slaves of the Almarach Ikmrin would not be able to hide from him forever, and when he found them he would destroy them utterly.

More of the slaves-beings appeared ahead, quadrupedal units that lumbered around the corner that, he knew, led to the exit of the bunker. They raised their curved heads and fired from weapons mounted within, and bolts of azure energy glided lazily through the air, only to splash uselessly on his shields. The impact of more than a dozen of the projectiles caused only a one percent drop from his maximum shield strength, and that was recuperated in nought point three seconds. Targeting locks were found, and he raised his cannon, ready to smite these miserable creatures.

"Move out of my way, slaves of the Almarach Ikmrin!" he bellowed. "Where are your masters? I must finish what they started! Die!"

His cannon roared into life, thudding impacts smashing the synthetics apart as he advanced, great blasts from the mass-accelerator weapon smashing away concrete and machine alike. He was nearly at the doors, he knew. Soon he would be free, and he would wreak a bloody vengeance upon the filthy cowards that were the Almarach Ikmrin for daring to strike him down.

A great grinding, rumbling sound echoed through the bunker, and Yamzarat Machtoro roared in fury, diverting extra power to his movement systems to try and reach the doors in time. He turned the last corner at speed, crushing balconies and smashing walkways in his haste, paying no heed to the damage his great mass for was wreaking, but he was too late.

"Cowards!" he roared. "Face me! I will destroy you! Destroy you all!"

Furious, he fired his cannon into the door, the explosions scudding harmlessly off the thick, reinforced metal. He scanned the scratches the rounds created, gauging the damage caused, and calculated that simply shooting his way through with the weapon would reduce his ammunition stocks to just five point seven eight zero three recurring percent; if he wished to enact his vengeance against the Almarach Ikmrin, then he would need every shot. How he hated the weakling, fearful scum. Had he his railgun, then just two shots would be needed to blast his way through the door and into open air.

As it was, brute force would not serve here. But he knew that the greatest warriors fought with a quick mind as well as a strong arm, and he would do well to learn from their example. When had been bought in here, carried, humiliatingly, broken and wounded into the bunker, his sensors had detected computer systems within the bunker, one of which would no doubt allow him to the open the doors.

He sent out pulses of data, searching for an entry point, but he found nothing that he could identify as the handiwork of his creators. But there was something else, an alien system that had been placed in as a temporary method to allow entry and egress. It would require hacking, but he would prevail. None could stop Yamzarat Machtoro.

Thus, gathering every shred of his CPU he could spare, his endless fury focussed into a single wedge of his digital consciousness, Yamzarat Machtoro approached this alien system and began to hack.

#

"Scandarum Malleus, we must confer with you immediately!" Legion said as it hurried into the bridge. "This is a matter of great importance."

There was a tone that Malleus could only describe as one of worry, even panic, in the otherwise inflectionless buzz that was Legion's voice, and he looked up from where he was, in mid conversation with Tali, Kullas, Kenneth and Gabby over the installation of the Normandy's new shielding module.

"What is it?"

"An emergency has come up concerning the Geth," Legion said. "Your presence was requested; we believe that you may be able to find a solution. A weapon was discovered, which we believed we could use against the Old Machines, but it was activated before we could investigate it properly and it is now turned against us."

"What sort of weapon?" Kullas asked.

"The data we received did not indicate precise details, but it is believed to be an AI platform of extreme age," Legion answered. "We believe that it was used against the Old Machines in the past by its creators. The data we received suggested that the AI thinks we serve the Old Machines, and we believe that this is because of the synthetic nature of the Geth. We hope that you may be able to convince it otherwise."

"Why me, though? Wouldn't any sentient organic do?"

"Yes," Legion said. "But should you fail, you do command a collection of the most dangerous individuals in the galaxy. They would be useful." 

Malleus snorted, and Legion cocked its head to one side.

"May we ask how we are amusing?"

"Never mind," Malleus said, shaking his head. "Where is this weapon of yours?"

"The world of Rannoch," Legion said.

"The homeworld?" Tali asked. "How would some old weapon get there?"

"We do not know," Legion said.

"Oh, I see what you're plotting, abomination," Kullas said. "You lure us into the heart of Geth controlled space, into the middle of a fleet or an army, and then try and kill us. A pathetic plan, technoheresy. I won't be fooled."

"We are telling the truth," Legion protested. "We request haste. We have sealed it below ground but do not know how long we have until it breaks free."

"We'll investigate it," Malleus said.

"Brother Captain, this is obviously some kind of ploy," Kullas protested. "This creature here is clearly trying to fool us."

Malleus held up a hand for silence.

"I'm willing to trust Legion," he said. "We'll bring the Normandy to Rannoch and look into this."

"We warn you now that it is immune to small arms fire, and anti-tank weaponry that was employed appeared to have a negligible effect," Legion said. "You may wish to take a smaller group; many team members will be extraneous."

"Good point," Malleus said. "Kullas, find Kurias, Cyralius and Hullen, tell them that they're making planetfall with me. They've got the firepower we want. You come along too; worst case scenario we can always hack it and reprogram it."

"I shall, brother captain," Kullas said. "Though I still protest that I am not happy with this."

"I'm aware, Forge Priest. Now go find them."

"I'm coming too," Tali interjected.

"Apprentice Adept, we appear to be walking into a dangerous combat situation in which you will not be able to be of adequate use," Kullas said. "It would be incredibly hazardous."

"I don't care," Tali said. "This is the homeworld we're talking about here. No Quarian has set foot on it for more than two hundred years, and I'm not passing up this opportunity. And if I have to hold onto the Thunderhawk's wings to get down there, then I will."

The last statement was accompanied by a poke to Malleus' chest, the finger of her bionic clanking off the Aquila on his breastplate, and he raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I can't argue with that, can I?" he said, looking at the young Quarian with an expression of vague bemusement on his face. "Very well, Tali, you can come too."

"Thank you, Malleus," Tali said. "I don't believe it. The _homeworld_! I'll go get some things, and I'll be down by the Thunderhawk."

She left with a spring in her step, and Kullas glanced over to Mallues.

"I hope you're doing the right thing by letting her come along," he said.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Malleus said. "Joker, can you get us to Rannoch?"

"EDI's got the jumps all mapped out," Joker replied over the intercom. "We'll be there in an hour."

"Good," Malleus said, before heading off to the armoury. He had a feeling that his thunder hammer would be needed; it may not have been firepower, but he had a feeling that anything able to cripple an Ork Stompa would be up to the situation.

At least, he hoped it would be.

#

The Thunderhawk landed in the midst of an army.

Thousands of Geth were gathered, heavy weapons platforms gathered with their armaments pointed towards the immense blast doors that were recessed into the side of the mountain they were marshalled upon, a phalanx of great four-legged Colossi gathered together, squads of Geth Prime, entire squads of the elite leader-constructs, in cover with their weapons pointed at the doors. Overhead, delta-winged Geth gunships flocked, at least a hundred of the craft, heavy armaments and missile systems locked on to the bunker's doors. A great bubble surrounded the blast doors and the ramp that led down to them, some sort of kinetic barrier, linked in to several house-sized generators. The Geth were taking no risks, it seemed.

"Quite a gathering of force," Malleus remarked to Legion as they disembarked from the Thunderhawk's maw. "You're not taking any chances, are you?"

"It is of severe potency," Legion said. "We do not wish for hostilities, but it is extremely dangerous."

"Have you tried to negotiate with it?" Cyralius asked.

"According to my fellows, several times," Legion said. "It ignores all attempts of negotiation. It accuses us of lying."

There was a ripple among the ranks of the Geth as Tali stepped off the gunship, and one of the bulky Prime platforms stepped forwards. Legion hurriedly chattered something to it in binaric, and it responded quickly, and Malleus leant over to Kullas.

"What was that about?"

"There was some concern over Apprentice Adept Zorah's presence. Legion was reassuring them that she was allowed here."

"Good."

"I can't believe it," Tali said. "The homeworld. Rannoch. I'm here. I'm the first Quarian to set foot on this planet in two hundred years!"

She grabbed Malleus' waist in a hug, and said in a voice that seemed somewhat stunned by sheer gratitude; "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Tali," Malleus said, raising an eyebrow to Cyralius, who just shrugged.

The young Quarian broke her embrace, suddenly remembering herself.

"Sorry. Actually, I just realised something."

"What?" Hullen asked.

"I don't need my mask," Tali said. "My immune system it should be symbiotic with the bacteria here instead of having to fight it. I won't get sick if I breathe the air here."

She reached beneath her hood, undoing some hidden clasp, and pulled the mask away. She beamed at the Astartes and Geth with a look of radiant happiness, one that was almost infectious, and Malleus smiled back despite himself.

"I was wondering what you looked like beneath that mask, if you don't mind me saying," Hullen remarked. "Still, good for you, Tali. Brother Captain, I'll be getting close to the doors; my melta will do its work best there."

"Good point," Malleus said, before flicking the vox bead in his ear on. "Kurias, get airborne and start circling. We can use that turbolaser."

"Understood, Brother Captain," Kurias said. The engines of the gunship swivelled downwards and whined into life, powering it upwards into the air.

"Alright, the rest of you, let's get up close," Malleus said. "That's where we'll work best."

They moved through the ranks of Geth, the machines stepping aside from them as they walked through; aside from their rocket launcher wielding heavy weapons troopers, all of the synthetics were larger than even the Astartes, and Malleus couldn't help but feel a little overshadowed.

"I don't like this," Kullas muttered as they walked through the crowd. "I don't trust these creatures."

"You've said," Malleus replied. "Several times, now."

They reached the edge of the shield, where Hullen stood, his melta at the ready.

"What do you require of us?" Legion asked.

"I want you to do two things," Malleus said. "I want you to lower this shield. And then we're going to open this door."

#

Yamzarat Machtoro's hacking attempts came to a halt as his audio sensors detected the sound of the doors opening. He knew that he had got nowhere, several thousand AI minds of the Almarach Ikmrin's slaves thwarting his attempts to hack past their systems, so that would mean only one thing; they were opening the door for him.

"So you grow a spine!" he bellowed mockingly, striding towards the door as it opened. "It will do you no good; I will destroy you nonetheless!"

He stepped through the doors of the bunker as they slid open, sunlight shining upon his white-painted flanks for the first time in aeons. He sent all but the most needed power he had to his shields, conserving the rest only for motion, his sensors and his cannon, and prepared to meet the inevitable storm of fire.

None came.

He saw arrayed before him an army of synthetics, targeting matrices flooding his processors with seas of acquisitions, and he readied his cannon to fire; they would not fool him with some duplicitous scheme of pacifism to lower his guard. And then a feed from one of his sensors caught his attention; organics.

A small group of them, gathered at the fore. Some of them seemed to encased in some metallic composite, armour, no doubt, and a few of those sported mechanical components, replacements for limbs, it seemed, though one seemed to have had several organs and limbs replaced, more than could be accounted for as injury. One seemed to be a storm of contradictory data, readings of temperature, radiation and electromagnetic energy fluxing constantly. But one of the organics was smaller than the rest, only part of its body, a hand, of mechanical nature. Yamzarat Machtoro was intrigued

With a groan of servos, the great machine crouched down, lowering its head towards them so it might address them directly.

"What?" he asked in a voice like an avalanche. "Are you?"

#

The blast doors slid aside, a series of irises and sliding doors moving aside on a stretch of concrete nearly thirty metres in length. Beyond that, the bunker's entrance lay open like some great maw, dark and shadowed by the cave.

A great roar thundered up from below, and there was a deep thudding, footsteps. What looked to be a pair of long, flat prongs of metal, ribbed and crisscrossed by wires, emerged from midair, and then a great metallic foot emerged. And then Yamzarat Machtoro emerged into the sunlight.

"Sacred Omnissah!" Kullas exclaimed as he looked upon the great machine, making the sign of the cog. Hullen simply hefted his melta, dropping into a fighting crouch, and Malleus activated his thunder hammer and Gaius' power blade. The Brother Captain felt a ripple of heat next to him, and saw Cyralius ablaze with psychic power, flames coasting across his form.

"That's huge," Tali murmured. "No wonder the Geth want to turn that thing against the Reapers."

The machine was truly immense. Concrete cracked under the tread of its two-toed feet, the end of each metallic digit the size of Malleus, an immense head recessed into the centre of its barrel chest. It gleamed white, alien runes painted across its flanks, and what looked to be some sort of cannon occupied the left arm, the right taken up by an immense, two pronged weapon, not dissimilar to the railguns used by the blasphemous xenos of the Tau. Its legs were strangely double jointed, not dissimilar to Tali's and were it not for its sheer mass then Malleus would easily call its balance a precarious one.

"What is that?" Tali asked, awe on her voice.

"That, Apprentice Adept," Kullas said. "Is a titan."

The immense machine seemed to survey the army of Geth gathered before it, before turning its great head to face the Astartes. It lowered itself into a crouch, the great pistons of its legs hissing as it leant closer to them. It head, they saw, was shaped into a rough approximation of a snarling mouth, a straight line around where its mouth would be, flat across the centre before turning downwards towards the edges, and what could be portholes in the head of the machine were shaped like narrowed, slitted eyes.

It said something of deafening volume in some alien tongue, it sheer noise enough to stagger the Astartes and Tali, and Malleus glanced over to Legion.

"What's it saying?" he asked.

"We do not know," Legion said. "We have not yet managed to translate its language. We are attempting it now."

"Forget translation," Kullas said. "Try binaric." 

He said something in the chittering machine tongue of the Mechanicum, and the great machine turned to face the Forge Priest. It replied in the code, and a swift exchange passed between them, before Kullas turned to Malleus and said; "I have provided it with a translation program. It should-"

"What manner of creature are you?" the great machine suddenly rumbled. "Be you friend or foe of the Almarach Ikmrin?"

"I am Malleus Scandarum of the Adeptus Astartes," Malleus replied. His thunder hammer and blade did not deactivate, still crackling in his hands. "And I do not know what the Almarach Ikmrin are."

"Do you not?" the massive machine asked. "The Doom of Worlds, Bane of the Askriit, the Heartless Machines? Do these names mean nothing to you?"

"Are you talking of the Reapers?" Malleus asked. "The Old Machines?" 

"Reapers? Perhaps I am," it said. "They are great machines, larger than even I, and they descended upon my people to slay them all."

"That sounds just like them," Malleus said. "But there were more of you? What is your name, machine?"

"My name is Yamzarat Machtoro," the immense contraption said. "In your tongue, this would mean 'God of Gods.' I was created by the Askriit to fight the Almarach Ikmrin, my construction starting in the Year of Slain Sons and finishing in the Year of Weeping Mothers. Once, I had many warriors under my command, lesser machines that fought alongside the soldiers of the Askriit, but all were eventually destroyed by the Almarach Ikmrin."

Malleus looked over to Legion.

"Legion, those dates mean nothing to me," he said. "Do you have any idea how old this machine is?"

"According to carbon dating checks run on the bunker, at least three point seven million years old," Legion said.

"He's aged well, then," Hullen remarked.

"I have slept so long?" Yamzarat Machtoro asked. "A curse upon those machines, that I be denied battle for such an age!"

"How in the Emperor's name did it manage to last three point seven million years?" Malleus asked.

"Both the doors and concrete of this bunker are made up of unknown materials," Legion said. "We are currently analysing its composition, but it could be that they may last that long if left undisturbed."

"What of the little creature with you?" Yamzarat Machtoro suddenly boomed. It pointed its immense railgun towards Tali to indicate who he meant, the Quarian involuntarily stepping back in the face of the cyclopean weapon. "I am curious."

"I…My name is Tali Zorah Vas Neema Nar Mechanicum," Tali said. "I'm a Quarian. And I want to know what you're doing on my homeworld."

"_Your_ homeworld, little Quarian?" Yamzarat Machtoro asked. "This is the homeworld of the Askriit, not of the Quarians."

"Our people lived on this world for thousands of years," Tali said. "We built cities, and a culture and we took to the stars from here. It is our home."

"Impossible!" Yamzarat Machtoro boomed. "Unless…" 

The god machine seemed to pause for though, before it said; "Yes. Ninety seven percent genetic similarity, physiological resemblance to some degree. So, the Lord Geneticist's work bore fruit. You are small, frail, but you face me down with courage. Worthy successors, if all Quarians are like yourself."

"Successors to what?" Tali asked.

"To the Askriit," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "You must be the fruit of the Descendant Project."

"Descendant Project?" Tali asked.

There was a pause, before Yamzarat Machtoro seemed to sigh, and then announced; "If you do not know of the Descendant Project, then I am afraid, little Quarian, what I have to say may be somewhat of a shock to you."


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9-Beginning of the End

"Technoheresy! Everywhere I go in this damnable galaxy, I am surrounded by technoheresy!"

The crew on the Normandy's CIC turned as Kullas entered the large room, servo harness bristling. Malleus and the rest of the shore party that went to Rannoch were in his wake, and clearly had been bearing the brunt of the Forge Priest's ire already.

"Are you alright, Kullas?" Titus asked, looking up from the conversation he had been holding with Miranda.

"Alright? Do I sound alright? Does my body language suggest that I am alright? Does the volume of my voice make you think that I am calm and utterly at peace with the world right now?"

Miranda glanced at Titus worriedly; she'd never seen Kullas use sarcasm before, and was clearly taking it as a bad sign.

"Alright, what's wrong?" Titus asked. "Actually, what happened down there? There was that AI weapon Legion was talking about; that the problem?"

"That 'AI weapon' turned out to be no less than a Titan Class vehicle," Kullas said. "One controlled by abominable intelligence!"

"I fail to see what is wrong with artificial intelligence," EDI remarked, her hologram flickering into existence. "You still don't seem to be too clear on why you hate it so much."

"Oh shut up, you damnable lump of silicon and heresy!" Kullas snapped. "I'm not in the mood for a lecture from you, do you understand?"

"A Titan?" Titus asked.

"A Titan, yes," Kullas said. "The size of an Imperator to boot."

Titus whistled.

"That's quite something."

"What's a Titan?" Miranda asked.

"What's a Titan? _What's a Titan?_" Kullas replied. "A Titan is the purest manifestation of the Omnissah's will, a being of immense power, the most righteous and holy of the blessed weapons wielded by the Adeptus Mechanicus. It towers above the battlefield, a true god of war, and can fell entire armies with its sacred armaments."

"That doesn't explain much, you know," Garrus remarked from his place on the Normandy's weapon console.

"Basically, it's a walking fortress with enough firepower to blast just about anything it wants straight to the Throne," Titus said. "You don't want to be on the wrong side of one, believe me."

"Well, if one wishes to be crude about the most beloved of the Omnissah's machines, then that's accurate enough, I suppose," Kullas said, somewhat tersely. "Though such a statement tragically fails to capture the majesty of a Titan. A pity that it's controlled by abominable intelligence."

"Say what you want though, Kullas," Hullen said. "That's going to be one hell of a force multiplier. I mean did you see the size of that railgun it had? You could do a lot of damage with that thing."

"I know," Kullas said. "Though Legion threatens that if I try and wipe the AI from its core and install a Princeps then the Geth will withdraw their support and leave us to fight the Reapers alone, the cursed machine."

"Maybe you should find something to fix," Malleus suggested. "That might help you calm down."

Kullas shrugged.

"Fine," he said. "Clearly I'm going to have no chance of swaying you on this matter."

He stomped off to his place in the armoury, and Miranda glanced over to Malleus as the door closed, who shrugged.

"Just let him grumble," he said. "He'll get it out of his system."

"He really does hate AI, doesn't he?" she remarked.

"It's the Mechanicum," Malleus replied. "As valued allies as they are to the Imperium, they are somewhat…odd."

In all honesty, he could understand why Kullas was unhappy, but explaining why would bring a lot of awkward facts into light, and that would hardly be what he could call advantageous. He could start inciting anti-xenos feelings amongst the people when the time was right, but declaring his hatred for all non-humans right off would be a bad idea.

"Anyway, what was this weapon like?" Miranda asked. "The Illusive Man was hoping to hear about it."

"I'll have EDI send some information about him straight away," Malleus said. "But suffice to say, he's one of the most powerful ground warfare machines I've ever seen, hates the Reapers with a passion and is one of most bad tempered beings I've ever had the pleasure to have met." 

"I quite like him," Hullen added.

"'Him?'" Garrus asked. "I thought you said it was a machine."

"He's quite definitely male," Cyralius said. "He's got too much personality to be an 'it.'"

"Oh, right, like EDI. I get it."

"So it's against the Reapers?" Miranda asked.

"He was made to fight them," Malleus said. "His creators were wiped out by them, but I think they were pretty technologically advanced."

"Were they? What about other tech? Did we get any of that?"

"We discovered archives in the bunker that the weapon was stored in, but the data on them was irretrievably corrupted," Legion said. "The AI, Yamzarat Machtoro, has data on their history, but not much on their technology beyond that behind its own construction."

"Damn. Ah well, I suppose it'll have to do," Miranda said.

"It'll be good enough on its own," Malleus said. "Believe me."

"I realise," Cyralius said. "That Yamzarat Machtoro may actually be the warrior I was talking about when I made that prophecy, you know."

"What makes you think that?" Titus asked.

"A dead warrior who merely sleeps because he was never alive enough to die," Cyralius said. "Yamzarat Machtoro was dormant for a long time, and seeing as he's an AI, you could argue that he's not technically alive."

"A good point," Malleus said. "I'll see if the Geth have a ship that can carry him. And then we're setting a course for the Citadel. I've a feeling we haven't much time."

#

"The stupid, blind idiots, all of them!" Kullas muttered as he stormed into the armoury. "Letting an AI be in control of a damned Titan! A Titan, and there's an AI controlling it!"

He noticed Tali sitting at his workbench, half-heartedly fiddling with something on its surface. Kullas sighed bunching his fists to try and cool his ire, before he asked; "What is that you're working on, apprentice adept?" 

"Just some shielding tech," she said despondently. Her mask had been put back on, keeping her safe from the various bacteria that the crew carried, but it was clear she was unhappy even beneath its opaque glass surface. "I figured you could probably use some."

"A good idea," Kullas replied, before he noticed Tali's tone of voice and asked; "Are you optimal?"

"No," Tali sighed, shaking her head. "Of course I'm not."

"Ah yes, what Yamzarat Machtoro had to say about your people," Kullas said. "Ignore the thing, I say; pernicious lies of abominable intelligence."

"He wasn't lying," Tali said. "I think he was right."

Kullas suddenly felt uncomfortable. People were hardly his strongest point; even he was willing to admit that.

"And I understand that you are distressed by this?" he asked.

"Distressed? Of course I am," Tali said. "I just discovered that my entire species was _made_. What am I supposed to think about that? Everything we ever thought happened, evolution, survival of the fittest, all of it turned out to be wrong; we were just designed, that's all."

"That is not entirely accurate," Kullas said in what he hoped was a consoling tone. "Your ancestors were simply given the enablers to evolve into sentience."

"Oh, and that's so different?" Tali asked, a hint of derision on her voice. "We were made, Kullas, forced to become what we were. It doesn't matter if it didn't happen directly; we were still pushed along a predetermined path. The Quarians are a weapon, don't you realise? The…the Askriit or whatever they were called made us simply so we could get revenge for them. We thought we were just naturally talented with machinery and tech, we were just inclined to form tight knit groups, that we were evolved to be adaptable and clever. But no, we were made to be all these things, had them written into our genes. Do you know how that feels? To discover that your entire people were manipulated before we even evolved to sentience to avenge some species we had never even known, and never would know?"

"I suppose not," Kullas admitted. "Though one would argue that you were a triumph of design in such a respect."

The look Tali gave him, even beneath her blank, expressionless mask, suggested that Kullas had said the wrong thing once more. The Quarian shook her head.

"You're really terrible with people, you know," she said.

"So I am aware," Kullas said.

There was an awkward silence between them, until Tali broke it with; "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to try and say something to make me feel better?"

"What should I say? I tried just now and I got it wrong. I can't think of anything else."

Tali sighed.

"You're useless sometimes, you know," she said gently.

"I realise," Kullas said. "I realise that this is the second time my lack of people skills has caused you distress."

"When was the last time?" Tali asked.

"The trial," Kullas said. "I imagine that if I had brought Malleus along then he probably would have made some speech that would have got you declared innocent and kept your father's good name as well. As it was, I only managed one of those things."

"It was good enough," Tali replied.

"Thank you," Kullas said.

"Kullas," Tali said suddenly. "Why do you hate AIs so much? I'm not too keen on them myself, but you never really seemed to explain why you do."

"In the Imperium, we suffered a similar fate to the Quarians," Kullas said. "We created AIs, Iron Men, they were called, to serve us but they ended up rebelling. And it was, dare I say, even more bloody and tragic than the Geth War."

"We lost our homeworld, and our colonies," Tali said. "Billions of Quarians were killed."

"And trillions died in the Iron War," Kullas said. "When you fled the Geth in the Migrant Fleet, they did not pursue. That would not have stopped the Iron Men. They wanted more than just independence; they wanted the extinction of the entire human race. We won eventually, Omnissah knows how, but it plunged us into a technological dark age that only ended when the Omnissah in His aspect of the Emperor emerged to save us all. But we learnt our lesson; AIs are foul things, without machine spirit, and they must be destroyed whenever found."

"I guess it's fair enough that you were upset about Yamzarat Machtoro, then," Tali said. "He makes me think of those Titans you were telling me about a while ago."

"You weren't the only one to," Kullas said. "It is but a pale imitation, and no match for their holy power, but nonetheless, to have such a thing controlled by abominable intelligence, instead of a Princeps and crew…I can think of no greater a perversion of the Omnissah's most sacred of war machines."

"I quite like him," Tali said.

"Sorry?"

"He makes me think of someone I knew in the Migrant Fleet, once," Tali said. "An old Quarian Marine, Polma Liyel Vas Talmei; all military and honourable, but old and grumpy too. He's quite sweet."

"I had noticed it has taken quite a shine to you," Kullas remarked. "Though I don't quite know how you know what the machine tastes like; I would imagine it to be more of a metallic or oily flavour, if I must be honest."

"I…it's an expression, Kullas," Tali said, shaking her head.

"Ah, right," Kullas said. "I think I understand."

The door to the armoury swished open and Hullen leaned in, partly hanging on the doorframe.

"You two," he said, a look of what could be either worry or feral excitement on his face. "Get into the CIC now. You need to see this."

He stepped back through it, Tali and Kullas following in his wake to see what the fuss was about. The holographic projection of the Normandy that usually occupied the centre of the CIC's main console was gone, replaced instead by a projection of a human and an Asari sitting at a desk. Along the bottom of the picture the words 'Emergency Broadcast' were scrolling, and looking at the appearance of the two people, they clearly had been rushed to the desk without time to apply makeup.

"…that Earth has been attacked," the human was saying in the middle of saying as they enteredd, a shellshocked, stunned look on his face despite his professional tone. Behind him, in a vacant corner of the picture, images of Reaper ships descending towards Earth from the atmosphere were being relayed, no doubt live. "I say again that we have received word that a massive fleet of unknown ships has entered the Local Cluster and is in orbit above the world. They have landed troops in various cities across the planet, and this appears to be a mass invasion. We have received word from Berlin, Moscow, New Kabul, Delhi and Beijing that they are all under attack, but that Chancellor Dröchtmer, Premier Petrenkov, Prime Minister Kunar, President Jaipal and President Heng have been evacuated safely. However, we have heard nothing from Washington DC concerning the whereabouts of President Jackson."

"The Council has appealed for calm and assures us that already efforts are being made to marshal a military response to these attacks, but already reports of mass panic and rioting in planets across the Galaxy are filtering in," the Asari said. "We go now to our reporter on the ground, Sarah James, who is reporting live from Moscow."

The picture changed to show not only the two anchors, but also a young woman holding a microphone facing the camera. Behind her was a storm-wracked sky, and the crew of the Normandy could see great onyx, metallic fingers reaching from the atmosphere. Behind her, a platoon of soldiers could be seen herding crowds of panicked looking civilians away from the skyscrapered centre of the city, rifles gripped tight to the body armour they wore; any experienced military eye could see they were just as worried as the civvies they were trying to control.

"The facts are still coming in, Aila, but from I've managed to gather from various military commanders I've spoken to, these mysterious ships have largely launched attacks via orbital bombardment before landing troops. Central Moscow has become a warzone, with the First Russian Battalion currently trying to hold back these invaders, but apparently their technology is far beyond that of the brave troops they are fighting."

"What are they saying their chances of success are?" the Asari asked.

"I will be honest, Aila; they aren't high," the reporter said. "The Russian forces are unprepared, and though troops are being rushed in all the way from Vladiovostok, we don't currently have the numbers to fight them. At the moment-"

There was the scream of air molecules being torn asunder, and behind her a lance of red light tore from one of the fingers of the Reapers orbiting the atmosphere. The camera zoomed in on it as it obliterated a swathe of buildings, entire skyscrapers toppling beneath its lethal touch. Its assault left a great tract of flame behind, before there was a yell in Russian and the sound of weapons firing. The camera panned across to come into focus on some gunship swooping towards them, a miniature version of its metallic masters. There was screaming as the crowd of civilians began to flee, the soldiers herding them too focussed on the incoming aircraft to try and stop them before it landed.

A ramp at its base opened, and huge, visored figures emerged, raising great rifles, opening fire indiscriminately. The camera hung there only a moment longer before it turned and showed the street jolting up and down as the cameraman began to flee. Suddenly, it crashed to the ground, and they could hear the sound of the reporter's voice screaming into the microphone; "For God's sake, send someone to help us! Please! I love you Andrew, I love-"

Her blank face suddenly filled the screen, smattered with a small shower of her own blood, before an onyx boot stamped down in front of the picture. There was the sound of a weapon firing, before the camera was picked up and turned to show a blank visor.

"See your doom, people of this galaxy," a voice said from beneath the galaxy, deep and forbiddingly terrifying. "None shall be spared."

The projection cut out in a blur of static, before it cut back to the anchors. They were both silent, looks of awed terror on their faces, and the Asari had her hand held to her mouth.

"Goddess," she murmured. "Oh Goddess." 

Within the Normandy's CIC, Titus bowed his head and made the sign of the Aquila, while Samara quietly murmured; "Find peace in the embrace of the Goddess."

"Captain, I have just received a message from the Council requesting your attendance at an emergency meeting," EDI said.

"What?" Jack exclaimed suddenly. "Earth's under attack from the Reapers and they want to call a fucking meeting? The fuck is wrong with these idiots?"

"Yeah," Garrus said. "Forget them; we should get there right away."

"He's right," Grunt said. "War calls, and I say we answer!"

"And do what?" Malleus asked.

There was a pause, before the Brother Captain stepped forwards.

"You're a damn fine body of warriors," he said. "Some of the most courageous and skilled I've ever had the honour of serving with, but there are only thirteen of us. What good will we do? We'll go to the council meeting; we've got allies there who've been preparing for this. We knock some heads together, gather an army and a fleet as quickly as possible and then we launch a counter attack." 

"He's right," Miranda said.

"Yeah, I guess so," Garrus said. "Those people just frustrate me sometimes."

"Think nothing of it," Malleus said. "I'd love nothing more than to go down there myself right now and slaughter these Reapers with hammer and blade. And we shall soon enough."

He cracked his knuckles.

"Today," he said, expression steely and determined. "We go to a council of war. Today we plan, marshal our forces and prepare for battle."

His eyes narrowed.

"And tomorrow," he finished. "We go to war."


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10-Council of War

Malleus took to the pedestal that had been provided for him as he entered the Council's chambers within the Citadel. This was a new feature, he reflected as he looked around the chamber, though it appeared that all of the races under the Council's jurisdiction had ambassadors here, not just those of the Council; opposite to the Councillors was an Elcor, next to him a floating Hanar, the jellyfish-like xenos hovering quite serenely on the antigravity engines implanted into its body. Across from Malleus was a Volus, and he fought the urge to smirk when he saw the squad, rotund xenos was standing on a box to reach its own pedestal. Along from the Hanar was a Drell, and Malleus couldn't help but feel a little surprise that the Hanar's vassal-species was being given a voice, though he supposed that the Drell did serve as the Hanar's military arm, the Hanar themselves being pathetically useless in combat. The four Councillors, the Asari, the Turian, the Salarian and the human, Udina, were at the front of the chamber, the massive window showing the vista of the Citadel arms beyond. Unsurprisingly, there were no representatives for the Krogan or the Quarians; the former having lost their embassy during the Rebellions, the latter blamed for unleashing the Geth upon the galaxy.

"We call this emergency council meeting to order," the Asari said as Malleus took to his pedestal, the Astartes last to arrive, just after the Hanar emissary. "As we know, Earth has come under attack from an unknown species of aliens. We are calling this meeting now to decide what to do about this problem." 

"I really don't see what there is to decide," Udina interjected. "Earth is under attack, and we need to move down there to help them."

"As we discussed in private, Councillor Udina, Earth is of little tactical value," the Turian Councillor replied. "We should worry about the rest of the galaxy as a whole."

"Hold a moment," Malleus asked, his voice calm, reasonable and seemingly a little concerned. "Little tactical value?"

"If you have an objection, Ambassador Scandarum, please highlight that you have one on your pedestal," the Salarian councillor said. "Wait your turn."

"What, and wait patiently while you bicker about 'tactical value' and other things like that?" Malleus asked, secretly surprised at his title of 'Ambassador.' He supposed it was correct, though. "I think not, Councillor. May I ask exactly what a bunch of politicians are doing in a meeting that concerns a military matter?"

"We hold the highest authority on matters such as this," the Turian said. "It's only appropriate that we are present."

"Yet you know nothing of war," Malleus said. "Nothing! There are two individuals who I know should be up on these pedestals and speaking on such matters, yet all I see is Admiral Anderson and General Suvat forced to hang back amongst your advisors without a voice. They are warriors, Councillors, they know far more of fighting than you ever will, yet it seems that they are forced to remain silent!"

"Ambassador Scandarum, if you do not-" the Asari began.

"I am not finished, Councillor," Malleus interrupted. "You other emissaries may not know of this, but the fact is that these Councillors have all been forewarned of these attacks at least two years ago, yet they did nothing!"

There was a murmur from the various emissaries of the other Citadel races.

"Time and time again, they were given warning of this invasion," Malleus said. "Time and time again, they were given chances to ready the galaxy for an imminent war, yet each and every time warning was given, they ignored it. They decided that they would rather avoid any chance of worry amongst the people and instead would remain completely silent on the issue, thus dooming us all to extinction."

"Angered and outraged," the Elcor councillor said, its deep voice without inflection. "Is this true?"

"Well, we didn't believe that there was convincing evidence to suggest that the threat posed by these things was real," the Turian Councillor managed, before the Volus interrupted with; "The Astartes Clan would not be saying these things if he did not believe them. He clearly has a better grasp of these events than you do."

"Indeed," Malleus said. "The creatures attacking Earth are a race of ancient machines known as Reapers. According to archaeological evidence, they descend in cycles on the Galaxy whenever there are sentient races that have spread across the galaxy, and wipe them out in mass extinction events. We do not know why they do this, but evidence suggests that this has been going on for millions of years. Their last victims were the Protheans, and we are but the most recent to be threatened by them. Two years ago one of their number, the ship classified as Sovereign, lead a faction of the Geth who worshipped the Reapers as gods in an attack on the Citadel, hoping to shut down the Mass Relays and destroy the Council, leaving worlds cut off and leaderless. Traditionally, they would simply send a message from the Citadel causing the Relays to be inaccessible to anyone but them, but it was through the work of the Protheans that meant they could not. We knew all of this two years ago, the _Council_ knew of this two years ago, but they have done nothing. We have been handed a chance to actually prepare to fight these Reapers on equal terms, but the Council has instead sat idle and risked dooming us all!"

There was a stir from the envoys, a few shouts of anger, and Udina's calls for silence fell on deaf ears, before Malleus continued.

"The incompetency displayed by the Council is nothing short of criminal," he said, voice moving over the sound of arguing envoys and silencing them with the natural authority born of thunderous anger. "And they have clearly shown that they are not fit to lead us through this time of conflict. I invoke clause six thirty three of the Citadel Charter and demand that all Council representatives step down to be replaced by members from their species who we can actually call competent."

"You wouldn't dare!" Udina protested.

"I am daring, Udina," Malleus said. "Call the vote; the envoy species of the Council have a right to have their voices heard."

"Very well," the Asari Councillor said. Her voice was relatively calm, but there was a faint undertone of worry to it. "We'll call the vote."

A series of holograms appeared in the air in front of them, their current colour a neutral yellow. On the pedestal in front of him, a green and a red projection appeared; the green was marked 'support,' the red 'oppose,' while a yellow one was marked 'abstain.' Malleus pressed the green, one of the yellow holograms hovering overhead matching the colour, and one by one yellow flicked to green. It had worked; he knew he would be able to rely on a combination of good oration and the envoy's worry at the current situation to work this situation to his advantage.

"The vote is unanimous," the Asari said somewhat numbly. "We are deposed." 

"Leave your pedestals, 'councillors,'" Malleus said.

One by one, the councillors stepped down from their pedestals, numb shock still on their faces, before the Volus envoy muttered; "Good riddance."

"And with them gone," Malleus said. "I would like to propose two people to represent the Turian Hierarchy and the Alliance. Two people who have, over the last two years, shown competence and have actually taken steps to prevent extinction at the hands of these Reapers; General Deniel Suvat and Admiral David Anderson."

The two stepped forwards, both looking somewhat taken aback by the sudden change in developments, before Malleus asked; "Any objections?"

None were put forward by the various envoys, and the Elcor even went so far as to say; "Supportive. Both distinguished themselves during the defence of the Citadel. They are suitable."

"Excellent" Malleus said. "And now that that band of incompetent clowns is gone, we'll need to plan this war."

#

The Citadel Strategic Command Centre was a great deal different from the Council's main meeting chamber, but one could argue, a great deal more important. Nestled within the heart of Citadel Security's barracks, the room was far smaller, heavily reinforced and guarded by a dedicated platoon of C-Sec troops.

"I need numbers and figures," Malleus said as he, Suvat and Anderson entered the room. "How many men we can get on the ground and how many ships we can get into Earth's orbit within twenty-four hours."

"That's a bit of a demanding time window, isn't it?" Anderson said. "If we want to fully mobilise then we're going to need a week, at least." 

"A week will be too long," Malleus replied. "Earth's armies are scattered and if we do nothing then we'll most likely lose Earth in a matter of days."

"I hate to sound negative, but Councillor Ramalin was right when he said Earth wasn't of much tactical value," Suvat said. "If it had major ship building efforts, or large amounts of resources, or, I don't know, was next to one of the relays that lead to the Citadel, then I'd agree with you, but isn't."

"Let's face the facts, General," Malleus said. "Humanity has the largest ground force and second largest fleet in Citadel Space, and you Turians aren't as far ahead on the fleet front as you'd like to think. And if we lose Earth, then we may as well stop fighting there." 

"So why's Earth so important?" Suvat asked.

"Where I come from, do you know what we call Earth? The cradle of man. Earth is the ancestral home of all of humankind, and if we simply abandon it without a fight then morale will plummet irrecoverably," Malleus said. "How would the Turians feel if they lost their homeworld? Earth is where this war will be fought, and either won or lost."

Suvat looked thoughtful for a moment, before nodding.

"Alright," he said. "We won't abandon Earth just yet. But we've still got the Reapers to deal within. If you want things ready in twenty-four hours, we can have the majority of the Turian, Asari and Alliance fleets prepared by then, and we can bring mothballed reserve ships out within the next few days after that to act as reinforcements. It's the ground troops that I'm worried about, though."

"How so?" Malleus asked.

"Most of them aren't experienced in on the ground based urban combat," Anderson said. "The problem is that most of them end up serving as marines on tours of duty, fighting pirates on ship-to-ship actions, and never actually see real terrestrial combat; the last time was we had surface battles of any real note was during the First Contact War, and almost all of the people involved in that are retired now, on both sides."

"We do have at least a few experienced ground troops, actually," Malleus said. He tapped something into his omnitool, before he said; "Can you see us, Wrex?"

A screen that dominated one of the walls lit up, and the scarred visage of Urdnot Wrex appeared in its centre. Behind him there seemed to be a wall of concrete, its top sheared off, before Malleus realised that that was the Krogan's throne.

"I can see you, Malleus," the burly Krogan grinned. "David, it's good to see you!"

"Good to see you too, Wrex," David said. "Malleus, do you know Wrex?"

"He helped me out with a few problems of mine," Wrex said, leaning back against his throne. "I'm guessing this is about the Reapers."

"Wait a minute," Suvat said. "Who is this Krogan? How do you two know him?"

"This is Urdnot Wrex," Malleus said. "Leader of the Krogan and uniter of the clans. He knows about the Reapers and is willing to help us."

"And I'm not the only one on Tuchanka who is" Wrex said. "All the clans have heard the news and they want to head down to Earth right now."

"They'll have to wait a few more hours," Malleus said. "But we're planning a mass plantefall assault; do you have the ships for that?"

"Unfortunately not," Wrex said, shaking his heavily scarred, plated head. "Our combined fleet stands at maybe a hundred vessels, and most of them are warships, not transports."

"None of the Council races will have the ships to spare to transport the Krogan though," Admiral Anderson said, shaking his head. "And we'll be too tied up with getting people to Earth to send any back any time soon."

Malleus shrugged, before saying; "I know where we can get some ships, at least." 

"And where's that?" Suvat asked.

"You're not the only one who's been preparing an army," Malleus said. "I'd like you to meet someone who you may well have heard of, and is quite willing to help us with our problems with the Reapers."

"Hello," an Asari said as she appeared on the screen next Wrex, an expression of languid calm on her face. "I got your message, Malleus. Plus I've been watching the news."

"Aria T'Loak?" Suvat asked, recognising the Asari on the screen. "Aria T'Loak? How I hell's name did you get her on your side."

"He's quite a charismatic man," Aria said, smiling somewhat sardonically.

"What are you doing getting Aria's involved with this?" Anderson asked. "She's one of the most wanted people in Citadel space."

"I'm getting us an army," Malleus said.

"The Reapers aren't going to stop at Citadel space," Aria said. "I've got pretty much every pirate, criminal and scumbag in the Terminus Systems answering to me, and unlike your marines they've fought everywhere, and they fight like bastards. Unless you're too good to use the help of the Pirate Queen of Omega."

"How many ships is that?" Malleus asked.

"Just about seven hundred, give or take," Aria said. "Only one dread, that being mine, but they're all crewed by veterans. It's going to be slower to get people to me; we're scattered all over the Terminus Systems; and if we're working on your twenty four hour window then I'm going to be late."

"Then we'll have you as a second wave," Malleus said. "Stop off at Tuchanka first and pick up the Krogan though; they'll have to be the ground reinforcements."

"I like that plan," Wrex said.

"Even if we've got ground forces, we've no guarantee of getting them onto the planet safely," Anderson said. "The Reapers have at least a thousand ships, and they massively outclass ours; as it is, we've got maybe twice that, and that's not going to be enough."

"No," Malleus said. "But we do have allies in other quarters."

"Who?" Suvat asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "The Vorcha? The Geth?"

"Strangely enough, yes, the Geth," Malleus smiled. "And a big friend of theirs as well."

Both of them looked at him in disbelief, before the door opened and one of the C-Sec soldiers guarding the door looked in and said; "I'm sorry to interrupt, sirs, but there's a Geth asking to enter. It keeps saying it wants to speak to you. We checked it over for weapons, but it's clean."

"Let it in," Malleus said, and the soldier shot him a doubtful look before saying; "Alright, sir."

Legion stepped into the room, and that was enough to knock Anderson back to his senses.

"Alright, just what the hell is going on?" he asked angrily. "The Geth hate organics; Aria I can understand, given the circumstances, but the _Geth_?"

"We are opposed to the Old Machines, and wish to aid you in combat," Legion said. "Our fleet also numbers at four thousand, one hundred and thirty seven vessels, including two hundred and thirteen dreadnought class vessels, and we have two billion combat platforms that we can deploy."

There was a slightly stunned silence as they digested the number, before Wrex spoke from his place on the screen.

"No," he said. "This is impossible. I fought the Geth with Shephard; they hate organics, they worship the Reapers as gods!"

"I've lost a lot of my people to the Geth," Aria added. "I don't trust that thing."

"You are incorrect, Urdnot Wrex," Legion said. "The heretics worship the Old Machines. We are true Geth; we oppose them."

"And how do we know that this thing isn't a dupe?" Anderson asked. "It could be lying to us, working as a spy for the Reapers."

"I do not believe it is," Malleus said. "I have fought along Legion for some time now. During this time, it has had ample chance to betray me, and destroy not only myself but my entire crew, save the Collectors and thus severely hamper our efforts of stopping the Reapers, but has not. Only yesterday I was in the midst of an army of Geth, all of whom were on Legion's side, who could have destroyed me with ease, yet they did not. And then, there's the weapon they discovered. Their 'big friend.'"

He pressed a few buttons on his omni-tool, and the other members of the meeting, aside from Legion, stared at the screen with awe.

"Is that…is that a construct by that thing's _foot_?" Anderson managed to ask.

"No, that's a colossus," Malleus said.

An awed silence fell.

"I have to hand it to you, Malleus," Yamzarat Machtoro chuckled as his immense height was displayed on the screen of CSCC. "You have an absolutely wonderful sense of the dramatic."


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11-Attrition

At the edge of the Local Cluster, a single lonely Mass Effect Relay orbited. Its solitary orbit occasionally brought it within a few thousand miles of Pluto, but aside from this rare, brief contact, it remained a lone blue star within the vastness of the void. But despite this humble location, it was a historic relay, the one that had launched humanity to the stars, that had brought it into the wider galaxy, had been humankind's sole link between its ancestral home and the vastness of the cosmos.

And now it was to bear the largest fleet in known history to war.

It flared into life as ship after ship after ship decelerated from superluminal speed around it. Swiftly, they manoeuvred into defensive positions as yet more vessels sped through the relay, a defensive cordon in three dimensions that surrounded the relay, looking for enemy ships. Hundreds, then thousands, of spacecraft translated into the vacuum around it, orders swiftly dispensed as to where they should go.

It was a varied fleet; the minimalist, blocky designs of the Turian Hierarchy's vessels, the sleeker builds of the Alliance's ships, the elegantly simple craft of the Asari Republics, the almost organic looking ships of the Geth. Here and there were stealthy Drell ships, ones that would soon enough slip round the flanks of the fleet to strike whatever soft spots the Reapers presented, while massive bombard vessels of the Elcor, more weapon than spacecraft, formed anchor points for the fleet. Some were huge things, kilometre long dreadnoughts bristling with armaments or lumbering carrier ships that housed hundreds of interceptors within their guts, while others were far smaller; light cruisers and escorts little more than a hundred metres in length, with ships of all sizes in between.

As ordered, captains manoeuvred their ships into formation as the final ships to arrive did so, the large, yet markedly vulnerable troop transports that would disgorge more than seventy million soldiers onto the ground, accompanied by two billion of Geth platforms. A cordon of cruisers that would form a front line, a shield for the vastly more powerful dreadnoughts that followed in their wake. An immense majority of these were Geth in design; the synthetics had known of the Reapers for years, and had been gathering vast quantities of materiel in preparation. The casualties amongst the frontline ships would be horrific, but Malleus knew that they were a necessity; the only thing that stood a chance of facing down the Reaper's immense vessels were the dreadnoughts, the ships all top of the range, equipped with the prototype shielding taken from the Collector base and cannons based off those used by the Reapers themselves, and even then Malleus was unsure that they would be enough.

The Normandy was near the centre of the fleet, flanking the flagship of Admiral Anderson, the Alliance-built dreadnought Thermopylae, named after some victory won by the Gracaean civilisation more than two millennia ago. In the CIC of the smaller cruiser, all four hundred metres of the Normandy overshadowed by the dreadnought that was twice its length, stood Malleus. The usual hologram of the vessel that dominated the CIC was gone, replaced a projection of the colossal armada that now flew in formation towards Earth.

"Admiral," Malleus said, a picture of the Anderson displayed on a console just below him. "I need a link to the entire fleet. I need to say a few words; a good boost to morale will do all our warriors some good."

"Understood," Anderson said. "I'm opening the link now."

He nodded to indicate Malleus' words could be heard, and Malleus began.

"Warriors of the Citadel, and of the Geth," he said. "I speak to you now in a grim hour."

Across the colossal fleet, Malleus' face appeared across view screens, his words echoed through tannoys and intercoms while below them, soldiers gathered; Alliance troopers, fresh faced young men and women eager to defend their ancestral home, Turian soldiers who had spent their lives training in the Hierarchy's highly militarised society, the elite shock troops of the Asari Commandoes, each with centuries of combat experience behind her, Drell Recon Corps with their stealth systems and skirmish troops, Elcor Heavy Fire Battalions with their immense heavy weapons only they were strong enough to wield. The combat platforms of the Geth paid his words little heed; they knew no fear and needed no inspiration, and instead marched in orderly ranks to deployment chutes, or integrated their digital consciences into weapon batteries, shield cores and engine drives to form single ship-wide minds.

"We are gathered to face a threat the likes of which has never been seen before," Malleus said. "A race of ancient, soulless machines has descended upon us with the intent of wiping us from the face of the galaxy, and they will stop at nothing to achieve this most abominable of goals. The creatures, these so-called 'Reapers' believe us to be weak and fearful, and in a misguided effort to frighten us into submission, have launched an attack on Earth. They have made a fatal mistake; they have not frightened us, but angered us. I am insulted, yes, _insulted_ by these actions. That they dare assume we fear them is preposterous! We do not fear them, we hate them! That they have the gall to think that by threatening our homes, our friends, our families, we will fear them, that we will shy away from force and violence and let them simply hunt us down is simply sickening. We are not cowards! We are not weak! Does this gathering of force, a fleet of seven and a half thousand ships, an army millions of soldiers and billions of war machines seem to you like weakness? Nay! We are the greatest threat ever posed to these Reapers, and it is they who shall be revealed to be the cowards."

"We are an army of many different peoples and many different creeds," Malleus continued. "In the past, we have had our differences, our arguments and wars; there is little love lost between the Alliance and the Turians, and in the eyes of many of you the Geth have been nought but a threat since they were created. But now we put these differences aside, and stand united in the face of the greatest threat to our existence in our collective histories. Those who fight and shed their blood with me I shall forever call brother, or sister, and let me tell you now that the same goes for any who you fight alongside. We are all one in this same great army, all a single people; we are soldiers! Where politicians or businessmen think of personal gain, where the citizen thinks of their safety, the soldier thinks of their comrades. It matter not whether you are human, Turian, Geth, Drell, Asari or Elcor, we are all warriors, all comrades bound by the blood we have spilt and the blood we have yet to spill. Whatever comes to pass, we shall stand as one, we shall be united, we shall be strong and we shall be courageous! In a hundred years time, the children of our children shall look upon our fleet, our army, and they shall say; 'This hour, this hour where we stood as one, united and unyielding, this hour was our finest hour!'"

He raised a fist, and the action was mimicked across thousands of ships by millions of warriors with a yell of bloodthirsty enthusiasm.

"Only in death does duty end!" Malleus roared out from thousands of view screens. "There will be no retreat, no surrender, no mercy! Fight for our future, fight for our present, fight for those who have gone before, who cry out for justice! Fight that which is good and true within this galaxy! Fight for the dead, for the living, for our children! Stand in the face of annihilation and spit in its eye! We shall not be stopped! We shall not be cowed! We shall not be fearful! WE ARE THE LIGHTNING OF HIS WRATH! WE ARE THE THUNDER OF HIS HATE!"

"We are lightning of His wrath!" thousands, nay, millions of voices across the fleet yelled with him. Few of them understood what it meant, but there was something about it that grabbed them buoyed them up with a blast of testosterone. "We are the thunder of His hate!"

"We are their death incarnate! We are their end made flesh! They have seen us, and they are fearful! FOR WE! ARE! THEIR! DOOOOOOOOM!"

The last word was repeated as a howl, soldiers waving their rifles in the air in raw fury. Something about Malleus' words, his sheer presence and raw charisma, was enough to banish thoughts of fear from their heads, enough to ready them to charge into the jaws of Hell itself.

"The Emperor watches over us this day," Malleus said. "And we shall not be found wanting in His eyes. I shall see you upon the battlefield, my brothers, and my sisters, of war!"

The soldiers he had addressed were still cheering as he closed the link, and from his position on the monitor below him, Anderson said; "That was one hell of a speech."

"It'll get them in the right mood for combat," Malleus said. "I take it there's no need to go over the plan."

"We're ready," Anderson said, shaking his head. "Never though I'd command a fleet this size before, you know."

"It is quite something," Malleus replied. And that, he would admit, was true. The Imperium fought wars on a truly colossal scale, but even so, the sheer number of ships arrayed before him was staggering. Most of them were, he knew, the products of the Geth, and it was stunning what feats of industry the synthetics were capable of. He had a massive numbers advantage, that he knew, though considering the sheer invulnerability of the Reapers it was still going to be one hell of a fight.

It was when the immense fleet hove into the lee of Jupiter, great engines powering them forwards at breakneck speed, that their ingress was finally noted.

"Contacts front," several ships reported. "Dreadnought class, two-K size, two hundred."

"Reapers," Malleus murmured. "And the battle begins."

Two hundred onyx-hulled ships, shaped like grasping hands attached to dark metallic wrists, went out to meet them. Outnumbered more than thirty five to one, the Reapers advanced without fear. The fleets both drew forward, manoeuvring as they sought to find the most tactically viable positions. The Citadel/Geth armada spread out as they coasted serenely through the vacuum, Anderson ordering into a position that would see them envelope the Reapers in a net of ships. The Reapers, on the other hand, advanced with a relentless fearlessness that was almost regal, their sheer size lending them some dread majesty.

The two opposing flotillas were within fifteen thousand kilometres of each other before the Reapers opened fire and people started dying.

Panicked communications came in from cruiser captains saying that they lacked the range to counter effectively, that they were being slaughtered. On the fleet projections above him, Malleus could see ships winking red as they engaged, before the lights representing them flicked out as they died, the mercilessly powerful beam weapons of the Reapers slicing through shields and hulls in mere moments.

"Hold your course!" Anderson ordered from the bridge of the Thermopylae. "God damn it, keep it steady, get into range!"

From his position at the centre of the dreadnought's bridge, Anderson called up a comm. screen. On the other end was an Elcor, the bulky grey-skinned alien waiting Anderson's orders with an expressionless face.

"Vice Admiral Gartan," Anderson said. "Are your ships ready to fire?"

"Confident. They are in range."

"Then fire at will!"

The Elcor were not a warlike race, the culture of the aliens defined by the high gravity of their homeworld which forced each movement to be considered carefully. They were considerate, cautious, conservative creatures, careful of all that they did, but when they went to war, their armaments reflected their very nature; slow, lumbering and ungainly, but immensely powerful.

Measuring seven hundred metres from stern to prow, the auguries of the Elcor's bombard ships lined up their targets, and the immense cannons that stretched their lengths fired. The magnetically propelled recoilless shell travelled the first hundred metres quite slowly as its nuclear payload was primed, before it was caught in the immense mass accelerator that spanned the length of the Elcor's ships. Accelerated to a speed of two hundred thousand metres per second, the fifteen metre wide shells tore from the twenty bombard ships that made up the Elcor contribution to the colossal armada and hit the Reapers like judgement sent from the gods themselves.

Ten Reapers were targeted by two shells each, every one hitting with a force of two thousand megatons. Even the immensely powerful shields of the blasphemous machines, strong enough to resist the firepower of a small fleet, were not enough to resist the terrifying firepower of the Elcor and winked out. A split second later, the second wave of shells hit home, smashing into the Reaper's superstructure and tearing them to pieces, the two thousand kilometre blast radius clipping other Reaper ships with enough force to weaken their shields and knock them off course.

The colossal recoil of firing send the Elcor ships scudding backwards a few kilometres, their massive engines fighting the kickback, before slowly but surely sending the lumbering vessels forwards once more.

"Ten confirmed kills," the reports came in to the bridges of the Thermopylae and the Normandy, "Ten confirmed kills!"

Sensing a threat, the Reapers turned to target the Elcor's lumbering, worryingly vulnerable ships, and Anderson immediately issued new orders.

"Shield those bombard ships," he said. "Get as many vessels between them and the Reapers as we can!" 

Malleus couldn't help but admire Anderson's willingness to sacrifice his own ships for the greater good; part of him had worried that the pathetic liberalness of this galaxy would have infected him with more concern for his troops than was healthy, but it was clear he was ruthless enough do what was needed. Part of him made a note that, should he survive this war long enough to start building an Imperium, Anderson would be a valuable asset.

"We're in range for primary weapons to get targets," the report came in. 

"Fire at will!"

The casualties amongst the cruisers shielding the dreadnoughts had been horrific, nearly four hundred ships lost within the first few minutes of the engagement, but nearly five thousand of the smaller vessels remained, and they began to fire.

Torpedoes, mass-driver cannons, even a few prototype beam weapons all fired as one. The fleet had spread out, and fire hammered into the Reapers' shields from a dome of ships, the kinetic barriers of the vessels struggling to fight against the sheer volume of firepower coming their way. Had this been two years ago, before the Battle of the Citadel, then they Reapers could have weathered this with ease, but much of the ordnance hammering into their shields was reverse engineered from that wielded by their kin, the creature Sovereign, and was far more potent than in the Citadel races' original weaponry. Not to mention the sheer volume coming in was simply staggering.

The dreadnoughts joined their firing moments later, heavy bore mass accelerator cannons opening up, able to summon far more power to their weapons than their much smaller cruisers and escorts. Mass drivers round slammed into kinetic barriers with yields of up to fifteen megatons, immense blasts blossoming across the shields of the Reapers even as the machines summoned the power to fire back. The Turian dreadnought, the famed and much lauded Makkrias, had its shields stripped away from sustained blasts from a small squadron of Reaper ships, before its hull was diced by the lethally precise beam weapons the monstrous machines wielded.

But the Reapers were beginning to die. One by one, sustained fire from thousands of ships wore down shields, causing them to spark out to nothing, before their hulls were exposed. Strong as they were, there was no way they could withstand the sheer volume of firepower that was coming in, and mass-driver rounds slammed against armour, knocking great chunks away, while burrower torpedoes drilled straight through and detonated within like colossal bolt shells.

"The bombard ships are reloaded," Gartan's impassive voice announced across the comms net to the Thermopylae, and in response Anderson highlighted several Reaper ships, twenty in total; "On those targets, Vice Admiral!"

The Elcor relayed the order across the ship, the command seen through Anderson's view screen as a barely perceptible twitch of Gartan's mouth flat and a fait shrugging of his left shoulder. Moment later, the bombard ships fired.

Twenty shells from twenty vessels slammed into twenty Reapers, blasting their shields into nothing, and immediately fire switched to the vulnerable goliaths before they could re-erect their kinetic barriers. They simply disintegrated, already shaken badly by the impacts from the colossal shells of the Elcor's bombard ships, more Reapers taken apart in mere moments. The battle had raged for less that twenty minutes, but they already had fifty confirmed kills; a fraction of the total Reaper force, but a fearsome toll considering the monstrous power of the machines.

But the entire fleet, Malleus knew, was simply a smokescreen. One of colossal force, but a smokescreen nonetheless.

As battle raged, the two and a half thousand troop transport ships that made up the bulk of the war fleet were slipping through the Reaper cordon unmolested. The Normandy and the Drell stealth fleet were their main guard, hoping to draw as little attention as possible from the already preoccupied Reapers.

"Anderson, how goes the battle?" Malleus asked from the Normandy's CIC.

"We're wearing them down," came Anderson's answer from the Thermopylae. "But casualties here are grim."

"How many so far?"

"Seven hundred and fifty seven, mostly smaller ones. Only forty dreads lost, and none of the Elcor's bombard ships, thank God. We've still got upwards of four and a half thousand ships, and the enemy are on half strength. We keep this up and we might just win this."

"Good," Malleus said. "Stand firm, Admiral, we'll be at Terra soon enough. The Emperor protects."

"Good luck out there, Malleus."

Back on the Thermopylae's bridge, Anderson returned his attentions to the battle at hand.

"Platform XV One Three Seven Seven Alpha, flank farther west, put more pressure on their shields," Anderson ordered, before an automated voice form the Geth command intelligence replied; "Affirmative."

As he watched, the Geth spread out further, part of an ever widening cordon around the Reaper fleet, forcing them to distribute yet more power to their shields if they wanted to survive, making the Reapers fight more and more defensively. He was losing less ships as the Reapers had less and less to fire with, and so much of their power was now concentrated in shielding that their weapons lacked their formerly fearsome potency; the cruisers were still vulnerable to one hit from the Reaper's laser weapons, but more and more were needed to even break through the shields of Dreadnoughts.

"We've got Reaper vessels making a break for our Eastern flank, towards the Turians," Vice Admiral Timira radioed in from her ship, Star of Ilium.

"Understood," Anderson said, feeling the decking beneath his feet shake as the Thermopylae's main cannons fired off another salvo. "Timira, move westwards then drive forwards, cut them off and surround them. Vice Admiral Gartan, get some of your bombards to provide support."

"Acknowledged, Admiral."

"Determined. They shall regret their mistake."

With full power to its engines, the Star of Ilium and her sister dreadnoughts, alongside nearly one hundred cruisers and escorts, moved in arrowhead formation around the rear of the Reaper ships that were breaking towards the Turian contingent. Realising the Asari ships' gambit, the twenty Reapers that had tried to break through turned to face them, only for the Asari guns to open fire. Sandwiched between the two fleets and with no support incoming, the Reapers were helpless; their end was brought all the more swiftly when three bombard shells detonated within their midst with apocalyptic force. Already battered shields were weakened further by the impact of the cyclopean shells, only to be knocked away entirely by yet more sustained fire from two hundred cruisers and thirty dreadnoughts. Some of the Reapers disintegrated in mere moments, and realising their fate was sealed, all power in the surviving ships was diverted to their weapons, focussing on the target of the Asari dreadnought, Guardian. Thirteen crimson beams smashed into its shields, forcing them out of existence, and tearing its hull apart in a matter of moments, before the graceful dreadnought was avenged by the rest of the fleet and another salvo of bombard shells. Swiftly, Timira redeployed even as wreckage span away from the slain Reapers, moving further along, forming an extension to the eastern pincer arm of the fleet that would allow both them and the Turians the space they needed to bring their guns to bear on the Reaper fleet before them.

Fifty ships remained to face against four thousand, and still the Reapers would not back down, facing the fleet that outnumbered them eighty to one with defiance. A salvo of bombard shells impacted them, smashing away the shields of another twenty, and still they would not retreat, simply firing back even as their hulls disintegrated. The weight of firepower on them was immense, and shields began to wink out and fail as it took its toll. More and more Reapers began to die, some blasted to smithereens by bombard shells, others worn away by sustained salvos from the other ships. One by one, the Reapers were slain, blasted apart in a void that was lit bright in a furnace of war, reduced to nought but debris.

The final Reaper did not try to flee. It simply hung in the void, defiant, as fire hammered into it, rippling across its kinetic barriers. Finally, despite it mighty engines pumping everything into the aegis that protected it, they failed, fire slamming into its onxy hull.

The Thermopylae fired the shot that killed it outright.

For a moment, the fleet seemed to hang in the void, punch drunk from its victory, and Anderson breathed; "We beat them. We won!" 

"I wouldn't be so sure," Malleus said over the comm. "That wasn't the main body of their fleet, Admiral, that was just a rearguard."

"What do you mean, just a rearguard?" Anderson asked. "Those were two hundred dreadnought class ships. What kind of fleet has two hundred dreadnoughts as just a rearguard?"

"One that has eight hundred more just where they came from," Malleus said. "Look sharp, Anderson; the main battle has only just begun."

"Eight hundred more ships? Are you certain?"

"We picked them up on our auspices just a minute ago," Malleus said. "That was by no means the main body of their fleet."

"Damn it. We don't have anywhere near enough ships to fight them outright. We lost more than a thousand in just this engagement alone."

"I'm afraid you'll have to work something out quickly then," Malleus said. "Because they're coming to get us regardless. And they're headed right for our transports."


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12-Ghosts

The Reapers closed upon the transports like hounds upon a wounded deer.

The lumbering craft were massive things, equal in size to the dreadnoughts that had protected them, but they were ponderous, slow vessels, many of them converted merchantmen or cargo haulers outfitted with upgraded shielding or armour plating but little else in the way protection. One or two, perhaps, sported a few mass driver cannons, usually designed to deter pirates, but they were not combat vessels, and the Reapers knew this.

Within their spacious holds waited millions of soldiers, the warriors who would be integral in deciding the fate of the war to come. The vessels lacked all the things needed to accommodate several thousand soldiers on their way to combat, all of those made unnecessary by the fact that moving across the galaxy took a matter of hours instead of months and instead the ships were comprised almost entirely of drop hangars or supply stored. This lack of ameneties left the ships with a much larger capacity to hold people, each one holding a little less than a million soldiers apiece; the immense majority of the carriers were Geth controlled, their ergonomic skill still leaving them with the fact that they needed to house just a little over two billion platforms.

The Reapers knew nothing of these statistics, and even if they had, they most likely would have paid them little heed. Their vastly ancient minds saw only threats that needed to be removed with all due haste, easy prey that could be vanquished swiftly before moving on to the supposedly mighty fleet that the creatures of the galaxy had mustered against them. That their rearguard had been slain was of no concern; they had underestimated them, but knew of the damage their brethren had already inflicted on the enemy was considerable, that they should be sufficient to deliver the killing blow and complete the Great Salvation even more swiftly, and they felt no remorse for their slain fellows.

What they failed to note, however, were the one hundred and fifty Drell ships and the Normandy SR2 which hung just seven thousand kilometres above them.

Their suites of advanced, prototype stealth systems were enough to fool the Reapers' own sensors that there was nothing in their position but empty void, and they were safe for the moment. On Malleus' orders, Vice Admiral Otoya had spread his ships in a great net shape, scattered across the void in loose formation.

"They're approaching twenty thousand kilometres," Otoya warned the Normandy as it hung in the void in his hoarse voice. "They'll be in effective range soon enough."

"Agreed," Malleus said. "Begin the assault."

As one, the Normandy SR2 and the one hundred and fifty Drell ships with it began what would later be described in the words of one of the captains of the carriers as; "The ballsiest attack in the history of space warfare." 

Mass driver rounds spread from the ships, revealing their positions as they fired, slamming into the mighty shields of the Reapers. The sensors of the massive ships came alive as contacts appeared, and immediately they turned to face the new threat, powering upwards on great engines towards them.

They were gone, stealth systems reengaging as the swift ships flitted away on invisible wings. Reaper sensors suddenly became confused as contacts appeared, fired off rounds and then disappeared almost instantly, before they could get a lock. Despite being outnumbered more than five to one, by dreadnought class ships no less, the Drell and the Normandy fought on. It was a cunning battle, one that frustrated their massive opponents as they drew them further and further away from the sitting ducks that were the carriers as they lumbered toward Earth. The fleet became scattered as they tried to pursue the Drell ships that appeared all around them, some particularly audacious captains even coming within just a few hundred kilometres of enemy ships to loose off shots before disappearing once again.

Their commanders knew that what they were doing had absolutely no chance of killing Reapers any time soon; even the Normandy's powerful prototype cannons, reverse engineered from Reaper technology no less, were able to only wear down their shields before it disappeared once more, and in the meantime the cyclopean ships simply had their generators repower them.

For a good ten minutes they kept up their guerrilla assault, luring the Reapers further and further away from the carriers, before the machines realised that their opponents posed no threat to them; their weapons were ineffective against their immense shields, and they had far easier prey to hunt elsewhere.

"Malleus," Otoya called in from his own ship. "They're losing interest and moving back to the carriers. If we don't do anything, then we're going to lose them."

"I know," Malleus replied. "I've got it covered. Kurias?"

"Yes, Brother Captain?"

"You're free to fly. Show them the Emperor's Fury."

"I'll show them what it means to pick a fight with one of the Imperium's pilots, sir!"

From his place within the thunderhawk's cockpit, Kurias grinned, hefting the gunship's heavy respirator mask onto his head. The craft's VTOL engines swivelled as they powered up, and the thunderhawk hovered forwards out of the Normandy's hangar, into the void. Joker had the spacecraft peel away from Kurias, giving the thunderhawk the space it needed to fly, and Kurias pointed the Thunderhawk towards the fleet of Reapers arrayed before him, and began to fly.

He was but a blip on their sensors, an insignificant gnat compared to the dread majesty of the colossal machines, and but one of their number turned to face him, thinking he was something it could simply swat away. It weapons fired as Kurias closed on it, the pilot rolling the craft away from the beam as it scythed towards him, tracking his movements. He held his course, activating the servo-skull slaved targeters built into the thunderhawk's systems, waiting for them to find him his target as he dodged and weaved around the beam. Had the Reaper facing him been able to formulate any semblance of emotion, it would have been perhaps slightly irritated at this little creature that thought it could defy it, and it fired its weapons once more.

Once again, it missed, and Kurias pulled yet closer, the engines of the thunderhawk silently screaming as it tore forwards at breakneck speed. Kurias smiled grimly as the targeters confirmed that the lascannons were finally in range, and he fired.

Three beams of crimson, one from the turbolaser and two from the lascannons, in miniature of the Reapers' own weapons but far more powerful, lanced from the craft, smashing into the shields with the force to topple a Titan. They winked out in a moment, and Kurias flicked on the vox; "Its shields are down; get it now!"

The hidden fleet opened up, a salvo of rounds slamming into the vulnerable Reaper, rupturing armour and slamming into more vulnerable systems beneath. The Normandy's cannons tore great tracts out of it, and within moments, it shattered, torn apart by the sheer volume of fire within the salvo.

"Confirmed kill, confirmed kill!" Kurias voxed. "Good work!"

He turned the thunderhawk mid-void, and dived into the heart of the fleet.

He sped between the ships, not just around their perimeter but within their centre. Point defence batteries mounted on the Reapers opened fire, and he weaved and jinked around them as they filled the void with flak. He swooped round, his course enough to disrupt the fleet as they tried to counter the new, extremely potent threat in their midst, and he fired again at another vessel on the edge of the fleet, crimson annihilation screaming from the craft.

"Another one's shields down, on my target!" he warned, and in response the hidden fleet opened fire. "It's dead!"

He curved and banked round, diving into the heart of the fleet, rolling and dancing round the fire that flew in his direction. He curved round the ships as they serenely rotated to face him, struggling to line up a shot on the thunderhawk. Torpedoes were loosed against him, and he simply swerved round them, far more agile than the guided missiles that pursued it.

He swept between the immense fingers of one of the Reapers, firing the lascannons into them as he passed, the shields around them winking out. The missiles slammed home into the weapons a moment later, and Kurias barked with laughter as one of them was torn off by the swarm of detonations.

He swept around, and fired to turbolaser point blank into it, pulling upwards as he did so. The shields, already weakened by the barrage from the lascannons and the missiles of its own fellows, broke only after a split second beneath the turbolaser's lethal touch. Explosions rippled across its form as Kurias pulled up, still firing, slicing through the massive ship and neatly bisecting it.

"Malleus, what are they doing?" Kurias voxed across the Normandy; from the heart of the fleet, and the disorientating jinking and weaving he was forced to do to avoid intercepting fire, he could see comparatively little of the great ships' movements as a whole.

"They're still bearing towards the transports," Malleus said. "But we're getting close, now. We draw them off for a few more minutes and they're going to be through. Kurias, you'll want to get to the far side of the fleet."

"Understood, Brother Captain? Why?"

"Anderson's arrived."

Immense explosions blossomed across space as the bombard shells hit home. Distracted by the Drell and the Thunderhawk, the Reapers had not noticed the advancing enemy fleet until it was too late.

A storm of fire followed the Elcor's bombard shells, slamming into Reaper shielding and hulls as the ponderous ships turned to face the enemy fleet. One or two, shields stripped away from the Elcor's assault, had their hulls ruptured and blasted apart by mass driver rounds. But the rest turned to face Anderson's battered armada, and as one they opened fire.

Hundreds died as great lances of energy tore from the Reapers into the flotilla, blasting apart cruisers and escorts. Anderson had kept his tactic of the screen, allowing the dreadnoughts and bombard ships to fire back unmolested, but the Reapers had adapted; coordinated fire tore through the shield and smashed into the Dreadnoughts, stripping away shielding and armour, bisecting the great ships with the sort of lethal precision that a surgeon would employ to cut away at a body with a scalpel. Return fire was heavy, Anderson's fleet holding a massive numbers advantage, but with the big guns of the dreads being stripped away one by one, and captains of the lesser ships beginning to panic, the fire was poorly coordinated.

Once again, the bombard cannons fired, illuminating the battle with nuclear flame, destroying yet more shields, but the Reapers tracked the path of the rounds. Seeing one of the ships in the midst of the fleet, exposed and vulnerable, they targeted it, smashing through its shields and armour. One of the crimson beams hit the ship's magazine, the massive nuclear shells that it stored detonating with horrifying force. Ships around it were sent tumbling, their captains battling against the sheer power of the shockwave, while a small battleship that had had the misfortune to be within only three hundred kilometres of it was utterly annihilated.

"We're taking heavy losses, Admiral," Timira radioed into the bridge of the Thermopylae. "We don't have the numbers to beat them here."

"We are also losing a considerable number of space-platforms," the Geth command intelligence, Platform XV One Three Seven Seven Alpha added. "The current casualty to kill ratio extrapolates that our fleet needs to be at least three times its current size to defeat the Old Machines in open engagement."

"You're right," Anderson said. "Timira, XV One Three Seven Seven Alpha, peel back. Malleus, Otoya, I need you to cover our retreat."

"We shall," Otoya radioed back.

As the main body of the fleet began to fall back, the Drell and the Normandy intensified their assault, nipping at the flanks of the Reaper fleet. Here and there, lances of crimson light speared out, the work of the thunderhawk, blasting into Reaper shields or shearing through hulls, but there was but one gunship and hundreds of Reapers.

Anderson's fleet was falling back, the Reapers in pursuit, but swiftly a problem came to light.

"The Elcor are moving too slowly," Timira reported in. "We're going to leave their bombard ships behind."

"Can't they get more speed?" Anderson asked.

"Negative, Admiral," Gartan said. "We must keep shielding erected."

"Shall we loop back and pick them up?" Timira asked.

"We'll be too exposed," Anderson said. "We need to get out of here, or we'll be torn apart. Gartan, I'm sorry, but we can't go back for you."

"Professionally impassive. Understood, sir. We will make them pay."

To their credit, the Elcor died like warriors. The slow, lumbering bombard ships, already being left behind by the fleet, turned ponderously, even as a few beams from the forwardmost Reapers slammed into them, detonating them in blasts of nuclear fire. They managed one salvo, coordinated targeters sending shells into the Reaper fleet, blasting into shields, smashing them away and even destroying a few of the ships. But that was all they managed.

The Reapers drew up close upon them, beam weapons firing, slicing through shields and hulls. Magazines detonated, blasting the bombard ships to atoms, fire blooming across the vacuum. Gartan's ship was last to die, firing one final shell in defiant anger before it was torn apart at a molecular level.

The Reapers pursued further, still going after the main body of the fleet, but the smaller ships were getting away, the monolithic ships still distracted by the efforts of the Drell, the thunderhawk and the Normandy. Anderson's fleet were pulling away, and a final communiqué flitted through the void from Anderson to Malleus.

"We're keeping hidden in Saturn's rings and we'll needle them over time, pick them off one by one. Get over here."

"No," Malleus said. "We will be needed for the battle to come on Terra."

"Understood. We'll keep harassing them when we can."

"Emperor protects. General Suvat, what of the transports?" 

"We've reached Earth, and we're unloading now," Suvat's voice came in from the comm. link. "Resistance is heavy, but we've got the numbers to clear landing zones."

"The agreed areas, correct?"

"Most of mainland Europe's a no go area; they've got heavy anti-orbital defences there. We've cleaned out some of them in Western Europe with aircraft and are landing troops in the British Isles, but we can land in the other zones. They're killing fields, but we're pushing forwards."

"Good," Malleus said. "Where do you want me?"

"The European landing force is focussed on a city called London," Suvat said. "There's a hell of a lot of fighting there; you'll be put to use the best at that point."

"Understood," Malleus said. "We'll win you London, General."

"I don't doubt you will," Suvat said.

"Ave Imperator, Suvat."

"Yeah, a little divine intervention would be nice."

He cut the link, and opened another to the Thunderhawk.

"Kurias, get back here," he ordered. "We need you."

"Understood," Kurias said. "Hah, gotcha!" 

"Say again?"

"Just picked off one last Reaper, Brother-Captain. On my way."

"Glad to hear that. The rest of you, assemble in the hangar. We're moving as soon as possible."

"Finally, some combat," Hullen remarked, getting an odd look from Malleus. "Zarya and Omega were disappointing."

It was a strangely bloodthirsty statement from the slightly irreverent Astartes, but Malleus let it pass. The others on the CIC began to file towards the lift, and Kelly nodded to Malleus from her position below Malleus' command pulpit.

"Good luck, sir," she said. "It looks like it could be pretty dangerous down there."

"Dangerous it may be," Malleus said with a gentle smile. "But with faith in the Emperor, all things are possible." 

"What about the Normandy, sir?" Joker asked over the comm.

"As soon as we're gone, take the Normandy and join the rest of the fleet over in Saturn," Malleus said. "You'll be in charge of the ship now I'm gone."

"I'll do my best," Joker said. "We'll be ready to pick you up for the victory party as soon as the last one is down."

Malleus chuckled quietly

"Do me proud, Joker."

"Captain," Titus voxed in. "Kurias is here."

"Understood. I'll be right down."

He saluted the members of the crew gathered on the CIC.

"You know your orders," he said. "The Emperor protects."

He went to the Normandy's lift, pressed the button to the hangar, and prepared to set foot upon sacred Terra.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13-Earth

"Move forward! Focus your fire!"

"Three platoon, flank right, get round them!"

"This is Three Platoon; enemy armour, walker, twelve o'clock! Need anti-armour support!"

"Man down! Man down!"

It was noisy. Planetfall always was, though Captain Michael Hunter of the Alliance hadn't known this until now. What he knew, though, was that he had stepped straight off the landing shuttle, onto a planet that he knew of well but had never been to, and into a warzone.

Two Company of second battalion of the Bekenstein Dragoons the first onto London ground, their mission to clear a landing zone for their heavier armour divisions and more infantry. Along with almost five thousand other infantry landed in London's Old Quarter, with its large parks making it a perfect drop zone, they were to secure a larger landing zone for the armour and more reinforcements. And they were getting slaughtered.

"Three platoon, dig in!" he ordered from his position, ducked behind the empty shell of a downed air-car. "Anti-armour fire is on the way."

"That's a no can do," Lieutenant Quick replied over the radio. "This thing's melting away cover. We need to fall back."

"Then fall back, damn it," he ordered. He glanced through the shattered window of the car to see, at the other end of the street, bulky, onyx armoured figures advancing down them, heavy rifles already firing. The squad with him returned fire, and he quickly barked orders; "Two platoon, contacts on my position! Fall back on me!" 

The soldiers of two platoon appeared behind him, their rifles blazing as they sent rounds downrange into the bulky figures stamping towards them. The shielding around them flickered with light as they absorbed the impact, but the things didn't stop, simply advancing without fear.

One of them finally fell, its shielding worn down by the fire of thirty soldiers, but the others cared not, still firing back remorselessly with rifles so large they could almost be called machine guns. Heat splattered against the edge of Michael's face, and he glanced to see Private Hendrickson topple to the floor next to him, shields overloaded and throat torn out by an uncannily accurate enemy round. Michael ducked behind cover, swearing quietly as he reloaded, trying not to look at Hendrickson's corpse.

The foe continued to proceed with a regal grace, and realising that small arms were no good against the creatures, Michal barked more orders into the radio; "Section One-Alpha, to our position. We need fire support, now!"

"On our way," Sergeant Harris replied over the radio, and a moment later the sergeant and his section appeared at the end of the street, sprinting through the smoke. They sprinted into cover, before hauling the mass-driver cannons they carried into a firing position. There was a scream as they opened up, hyper-velocity rounds tearing down the street into the enemy's position. Several were torn down where they stood, blasted apart by the anti-tank weapons, and Harris and his men ducked into cover to reload as the enemy turned their bulky rifles upon them, the concrete wall that they sheltered behind began to slowly disintegrate as the fire hit home, chips of stone flying off under its weight.

"Keep firing! Keep firing!" Michael ordered, ducking out of cover to empty a magazine into the chest of one of his enemies. They impacted, the enemy's shields winking out, and a moment later it turned to face him, its weapon punching holes into the car he was sheltered behind. Another group of soldiers seized the opportunity, opening fire and finally gunning the thing down. Harris's heavy weapons drew back up, took aim, and fired once more, the last of the creatures finally being torn down by the heavy weapons.

"Good job, sergeant," Michael said. "Cas-Am check, one section!"

Only half the soldiers sounded off, and it seemed to be the case for the rest of Two Platoon. Michael cursed; one firefight with just twelve enemies, and they'd taken down half a platoon.

"Medic and Charlie One, casevac the injured back to the ERV," Michael ordered. "The rest of you dig in. Three platoon, come in. What's the situation with the enemy armour?"

No reply.

"Three platoon, this is Captain Hunter. Come in! Three Platoon!"

A group of figures appeared at the end of the street, sprinting towards them with yells of; "We're friendly! Don't shoot!"

They scrambled to cover next to Two Platoon, before one of them stood and said; "Lance Corporal Ahrim, sir. Three Platoon, One Section."

"Where's the rest of Three Platoon? What about that armour?" Michael asked hurriedly.

"They're dead, sir," Ahrim said. "And it's still at large. Nearly got all of us."

Michael cursed, the sound nearly drowned out by nearby weapons fire.

"Alright, get to cover," he said. "Harris, we've got enemy armour incoming. Get ready to kill it!"

"That won't be enough, sir," Ahrim said. "The other cannons did no good."

"They'll have to do," Michael said, as he hurried through the doorway of a house, into better cover. "We need to cover our wounded. Now go! Command, this is Captain Hunter, Two Company, First Batallion of Bekenstein Dragoons. We need additional reinforcements, repeat, additional reinforcements; we're getting slaughtered down here."

"Negative, Captain, everyone else is tied down. Stick to your objective, we'll reinforce you as soon as we can," came the answer.

"I don't have enough men! We'll be killed!"

"You'll be fine," command replied. "Command out."

Michael swore, before flicking up the radio.

"Two Company, come in," he called. "This Captain Hunter."

"This is Two Company; we hear you, Captain."

"Thank God. What's your situation?"

"Pinned down, under heavy fire. We're at platoon strength here. Can you provide support?"

"That's a negative," Michael said. "We're about to be on the receiving end of enemy armour.

Neither of them bothered trying the others on the ground; comms were a mess as people tried to communicate.

"Alright," Second replied. "Hang in there. Second Out." 

"Enemy armour!" someone in Two Platoon called, and Michael glanced up to see his death approach.

It was some six legged device, the size of a tank, each leg shaped like some onyx finger, connected to an elongated torso whose rear tapered to a point, front a smooth curve down. Below this, a pair of heavy weapons protruded, held on arms that swivelled to face them.

"Harris, on the weapons!" he ordered. "Stop it firing!"

It was too late; the machine opened up on Harris' position, crimson light lancing from them, and reducing it to glass. It swivelled them onto the buildings that Two Platoon were hiding, venerable Victorian homes that, before the Reapers had come to London, had been beautiful and highly desirable properties. They tore away at cover sheltering the men, and Michael ran as he saw them lancing inexorably towards him.

There was an explosion next to him as they hit a gas main, and he was hurled from the window onto the street. He groaned in pain; even though his kinetics had absorbed the worst of the impact, he still felt bruised all over, and his ears were ringing.

There was a thudding next to him, noise nearly muted by the noise in his ears, and he saw concrete rupture as the tip of an onyx leg punctured the ground beside his head. He saw the machine standing above him, weapon arms swivelling to face him, and he knew that he was doomed.

But it was at that very moment that Michael Hunter saw an angel.

#

The Thunderhawk bore them down into the atmosphere of Sacred Terra with swift grace, sweeping downwards in a smooth curve. The hull rattled as it sped downwards, winds buffeting against its armoured side, and there was clattering noise from without as something slammed into the chassis.

"AA fire, sir," Kurias said, the craft beginning to buck and sway as he manoeuvred it away from the enemy shots, adding, somewhat pointedly; "As command warned us."

"Keep your bearing," Malleus said. "This thing's got the armour to shrug it off."

"Aye sir," Kurias said, a slight edge of reproach in his voice. "This stuff's accurate though. Damn; another shuttle down."

The Thunderhawk swept low to avoid the anti-air fire, some still pinging off the vox, and Malleus looked up to see Cyralius looking quietly contemplative.

"It is strange, don't you think," he said. "That even now, tens of thousands of years before the Horus Heresy, there are Astartes fighting in the defence of Terra. Do you think this is how our brothers in the Salamanders felt, Malleus, as they fought for our home?"

"Perhaps," Malleus said. He stood, harness hissing as it rose for him, stepping to the front of the Thunderhawk's hold. What he needed now, he knew, were words.

"My fellow warriors," he said. "This is it."

He looked each one of them in the eye briefly, before continuing.

"Where I am from, Terra has had a long and troubled past," Malleus said. "It was our staging post when we first ascended to the stars, only to fall into an anarchaic and barbaric state, seemingly dying in a cesspool misery and madness, until the Emperor took us in His hand and led us once more into space. It was ravaged by the forces of the Arch Traitor Horus during the great civil war of the Horus Heresy, then once more by civil war during the Age of Apostasy. A thousand thousand warlords have turned their eyes upon Terra within the history of my people, each with the intention of destroying or enslaving it. And each time they have attempted to do so, Terra has stood firm. Against slavers, heretics and would be warlords, Terra has stood firm. The Reapers are but the latest in a long succession of would-be conquerors, and what shall happen? Terra shall stand firm."

He took a deep breath, before continuing.

"We have come a long way; from the cityscape of Ilium, from the foundry-stations orbiting Rannoch, from the Citadel, why, even across entire universes. Together, we stood against a thousand horrors conjured from the darkest pits of the galaxy and together we hurled them back whence they came. We bore retribution into the heart of the Collectors' station and we destroyed them once and for all, but that was not our final goal. Everything we have done, every struggle, every battle, every wound, all of them have led to Terra. And in the Emperor's name, I swear that we will not be found wanting in the struggle to come. None shall stand before us, all shall fall before us like corn before the scythe. Not one of these Reapers shall be spared, not one shall survive our fury. We are the manifestations of His Will, tools of His divine mandate, and in the Emperor's name, we will show no mercy!"

There was a cheer from the rest of the team, a few punching the air with him in a gesture of camaraderie.

"We're touching down, Brother-Captain," Kurias voxed in over the intercom.

"Good," Malleus said. "Let's do this."

Malleus was first out as the ramp hissed open, his blade and hammer in hand. More shuttles were landing around them, men pouring from them, while above aircraft peeled away from the transport ships like bees from a hive. Malleus knelt, placing his hammer to the ground, murmuring a prayer as he took a small pinch of soil between the fingers of his gauntlet. He touched it to his lips, before letting it fall to the ground again, making the sign of the Aquila, and stood, brothers doing the same behind him.

"The hell was that?" Jack asked from behind them.

"We stand upon the most sacred soil in the galaxy, Jack," Malleus replied. "Show some respect."

The biotic just rolled her eyes.

"Let's move," he said. "The sooner we can get an actually safe landing zone the sooner we can get armour in and properly reinforce."

They hurried through the open space, one dotted with trees, swiftly moving over a bridge that spanned a lake, the debris of war turning its water grimy and stagnant. Here and there were amenity buildings, most of them shattered shells, and craters pockmarked the grass. A few scattered weapons and the occasional enemy corpse bore testimony to the fighting here, and the determination the men had summoned to push them back this far from the landing zone was admirable.

They reached the gates of the park, where a road ran through it into the rest of the city, filled with venerable looking stone buildings. Many of them bore signs of scarring, and chunks of detritus littered the roadway, and they hurried along them. Squads of soldiers were moving with them, dispersing down side streets according to orders, and Malleus took that one that would lead them to the tip of the spear. They rounded another corner, over the rubble of some venerable house whose walls had sloughed away to reveal its guts, and saw death. Some sort of enemy tank, an immense six-legged walker standing in the centre of the street, weapons pointed towards a prone figure lying before it.

"Over here, abomination," he yelled, machine's hull swivelling to face him. It raised its weapons, but Malleus held his hammer aloft, and threw it.

It flew through the air, crackling as it spun around on its axis, until it slammed into its hull like a thunderbolt. The shields around the machine blinked out, a great dent hammered into its form, and it stumbled back from the sheer force of its impact.

"For Polyphemus!" Malleus roared as he thundered forwards, sword ready to strike. "For Vulkan!"

The blade swung down as he reached the machine, cleaving through both the armaments that it held, and he stooped for but a moment to grab his hammer. One of the machine's legs stabbed at him, but he stopped it simply by slicing it off, the metallic limb skittering away, before an upward swing from his thunder hammer slammed into the creature's lower hull. It was knocked away, smashing into the front of a nearby house, rubble crumbling over it, and it tried to rise on only five legs as Malleus advanced.

"For Terra and Emperor!"

He slammed the blade home into its heart, slicing away its armour with ease, tearing at the mechanisms and devices beneath. The creature spasmed as the Astartes gutted it, legs twitching like those of some great, dying insect, before a final stab to the glowing blue mass-effect core at its heart stilled its struggles.

He stepped away from the ruins of the enemy walker, towards the figure that lay prone in the middle of the road. The young man had raised himself into a sitting position, a look of vacant shock still on his features, and Malleus noticed he had the pips of a captain on his rank slide.

"Rise, Captain," Malleus ordered.

The young man seemed to blink for moment, before he pulled himself to his feet with the aid of a hand proffered by Malleus.

"What is your name?" Malleus asked.

"Michael," he said. "Captain Michael Hunter, Bekenstein Dragoons first battalion, two company, sir. You're…you're one of the Astartes, aren't you?"

"I am indeed," Malleus said. "You're fortunate I arrived when I did; you're part of the big push, I assume."

"Yes sir, though resistance was heavier than we anticipated."

"Where are your comrades, the rest of your company?"

"Dead, sir," Michael replied. "Enemy resistance was too strong. These men are all that's left."

He gestured to the remnants of Two Platoon and Three Platoon.

"We've still got shuttle incoming," Malleus replied, gesturing up to the skies, where dropships were still landing. One of them exploded as he spoke, tumbling down to the ground in a trail of smoke and flame, and he winced slightly. "We'll reinforce and move forwards.

"You're fighting with us?"

"That I shall," Malleus said. "It would hardly be fitting to see the advance of the human forces stall on the invasion of their homeworld and for everyone else to get ahead of us."

He flicked a map from his omni-tool, and pointed out several locations nearby.

"These are the anti-aircraft batteries that are giving us trouble," he said. "We get them dealt with and we can move the armour in and the rest of our reinforcements, not to mention our forces in Kent are beginning to push into North London now, which is certainly giving the foe pause for thought."

He flicked the vox on, and began to issue orders to the soldiers on the ground, marshalling them together for what would be the pivotal moment in this current battle; the advance on Whitehall. His task done, soldiers already appearing from the street behind him.

He glanced over to Cyralius and smiled grimly.

"You were right, partly," he said.

"About what, brother captain?"

"Old London following the New," Malleus said. "But you got one thing wrong." 

"And what's that?"

"It won't be following all the way. That, I swear."


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14-God of War

Yamzarat Machotoro was the first upon the beaches of Hong Kong. From the massive delta of the Zhujiang River he rose, some ancient metallic behemoth that roared with deafening fury as he strode. Dirty, scum-topped water sloughed off his great form, veiling his white painted his form before he stepped forwards once more, great footsteps bringing him forwards, out of the water. Sand exploded from beneath his footfalls as he stomped upwards towards the city.

Enemy fire streaked towards him from the ruined city as the Reapers within opened up, and he cackled through his immense speakers as he returned fire with cannon and railgun, blasting buildings to rubble with former and simply smashing great craters into the ground with the latter.

Behind him, Geth rose from the water, standard soldier platforms, Primes, anti-tank troopers, colossi, agile hoppers and stealthy hunters, throwing up sand with the speed of their advance. Their weapons blazed as they opened up on the Reaper troops that managed to survive Yamzarat Machtoro's opening fullisade, picking off the enemy machines with deadly accuracy, weapons blazing. Behind them, yet more Geth rose out of the waters of the Zhujiang River Delta, a veritable tide of synthetics that rushed forwards with deadly speed. The plan had worked; no casualties due to anti-air or anti-orbital fire, and the enemy was taken by surprise by the assault from the sea. Landing on the islands outside the delta and advancing underwater had been surprisingly effective.

In seconds, they had reached the edge of the beach, or climbed up through harbours and docks, the tidal defences reduced to slopes of rubble by the Geth's colossi to allow their smaller brethren easier progress, scrambling upwards as they advanced.

The Reaper's soldiers were waiting for them.

Heavy weapons blazed from buildings and synthetics were cut down as they came into sight, hastily erected Reaper defenses tearing apart Geth down in moments. The Geth formed up, taking shelter from the danger and returning fire, while heavy weapons arced forwards to destroy cover and enemy footsoldiers.

"This will be too slow," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled, as enemy fire rippled off his great shields. "Let's speed things up a little!" 

His cannon roared into life, stitching a line of great craters across the shorefront, enemy strongpoints reduced to rubble and splinters as soon as the hyper-velocity shells hit home. His railgun screamed into life, and a city block was reduced to a crater as it impacted, the slide on the weapon clanking as it racked another round in.

He spotted a squadron of enemy walkers advancing down the streets towards him and the Geth, their weapons raised, and he turned his cannon upon them. Two of them were blasted apart in moments, but the others managed to send off beam fire, only to have them glance harmlessly off his shields; the Askriit had made them resistant to beam weaponry before they had been destroyed, technology taken from the Reapers. A shot from his railgun was his reply to that, annihilating the rest of them in a swathe of flame and debris.

"Do you remember me, Almarach Ikmrin?" he boomed as he stomped forwards, nearly two million Geth in his wake. "I have returned!"

Ahead of him, Hong Kong's financial district lay, a collection of great skyscrapers; too much cover. Yamzarat Machtoro chuckled as he readied his railgun and fired.

Buildings toppled as the round detonated, shredding glass and steel, I-beams and concrete crumpling in on themselves as the skyscrapers toppled. Those Reaper soldiers that lurked in the streets were crushed in an avalanche of rubble or stripped to nothing by a storm of glass. Binaric alerts came in from the Geth forces, protesting about preserving infrastructure and survivors, but Yamzarat Machtoro simply chuckled.

"I am here to make war upon the Almarach Ikmrin," he said. "What worry have I for these people's buildings?"

He stomped forwards, a tide of Geth in his wake, the smaller houses of Hong Kong's suburbs and docks being crushed by his great tread, great guns blazing as he was provided with targeting data from the linked combat network that the Geth fought with. Fire control orders were sent at lightspeed, and Geth moved with perfect coordination. They fought with consensus, data considered and processed in picoseconds and reactions across the entire battlefront coordinated perfectly; in everything the Geth did, they were a democratic people, and battle was no exception.

The only rogue element was Yamzarat Machtoro, the great machine of the Askriit storming ahead of the main advance, thirsty for vengeance. He roared warcries in his native tongue, smashing forwards in his eagerness to engage. Behind him, the Geth were struggling to keep up, his great strides outpacing the machines, their most agile scout platforms and their gunships the only things able to keep up.

Beam-fire arced up from behind him as Reaper assault walkers opened up, slamming into his shields, steadily wearing them down. Yamzarat Machtoro turned ponderously, ground shaking with every footfall, and his cannon roared into life, annihilating the foe as it blasted them apart is blasts of fire. Yet more fire impacted his shields from behind him, while by the walkers Reaper footsoldiers opened up with lighter heavier weapons, still wearing his defences down.

He turned once more and annihilated them with his railgun, while fire from his left flank was silenced by a salvo from his cannon. More sprang up from around him, near his foot, and he stamped down upon its source, a giant crushing ants.

Warnings came in that he was too far ahead, and that the advance was beginning to stall without his presence, but Yamzarat Machtoro's only reply was; "Then fight harder, cowards!"

He stomped forwards, still tracking for movement, and had he a mouth he would have been slavering for vengeance. His railgun smashed apart another squadron of enemy walkers, while his cannon annihilated platoon after platoon of the Reapers' footsoldiers. Oh, how he wished some of the master machines were here, that his railgun might smash them from the skies and he could blast apart their helpless forms with his cannon. Soon enough, he thought, soon enough.

He reached the ruins of the financial district, striding atop the great mound of rubble, still blazing away with his weapons. Enemy fire was all around him, smashing into his shields, and he roared with fury as he returned it, annihilating enemy machines with each shot.

Yet more requests for fire support for the main advance came in, he growled a begrudging assent, turning to face the shore. The furious momentum of his charge had carried him nearly half a mile inland, while the Geth were struggling to move forwards at any real pace, despite their immense numbers. He opened up with cannon and railgun on the targeting data that was provided, annihilating strongpoints and heavy concentrations of enemy troops.

The geth began to advance as holes were blasted into the enemy battle line, sweeping forwards through the streets while snipers covered them, colossi lumbering with them, hunting in great packs to bring down the heavily shielded Reaper walkers. The enemy line began to dissolve as more and more Geth flooded around them, overwhelming them with sheer numbers and precise, disciplined fire patterns. Several more were simply blasted apart by Yamzarat Machtoro, and he waited with as much patience he could muster as the Geth hurried to catch up with him.

He turned away as they began to catch up, tracking the Reaper fire that arced up towards him and annihilating its sources, booming and roaring in his boundless anger as he did so. The Reaper forces were beginning to marshal against the God Machine, more and more enemy walkers forming up to try and destroy him. The barrel of his cannon began to glow red hot as he kept firing, gunning down more and more foes as they began to gather around him, while his railgun roared, demolishing city blocks and columns of enemy armour.

But the fire coming in was heavy, hundreds of armour pieces scrambling to his position in an attempt to overwhelm him. Lances of crimson speared up into his shields, which were beginning to crackle as they fought to stay active against the pressure piling against it. Even as the Geth ground their way forwards, up close and personal, stealing enemy weapons to grant them an edge, their synthetic muscles granting them the strength to wield the heavier firearms, Yamzarat Machtoro was in danger of being overcome. No support, fire coming in from all angles. He could not win this.

He gave a screaming roar of frustration, weapons still blazing as he fell back, determined to fell as much of the enemy as he could. Fire still lanced towards him, and he snarled as he tracked it, before his targeters found a lock. The missile racks built into his shoulders opened, and a swarm of torpedoes swept from them, exploding amongst the enemy armour. He had not seen these machines before, the technology they were created from no doubt stolen from one of the Reapers' old victims, but he hoped the missiles would be enough, perhaps weaken them for the Geth's colossi to finish them off.

His weapons roared as he annihilated enemy positions, granting the Geth the room move forwards, enough to distract the armour that still threatened him. It rankled Yamzarat Machtoro that he was forced into the rear, but he had none of his kin-warriors with him. Had Loggat Branzmarin and his great guns been with him, or brave little Pagris Logazon, they would have strode together into fore and slaughtered all before them.

Yamzarat Machtoro opened up once more, cursing the names of his enemies and roaring oaths. Promises of vengeance were made in the tongue of the Askriit as he fired, beginning to step forwards, covering the Geth's advance. He snarled in fury whenever crimson light tore up towards him, annihilating it with cannon and railgun, the armour fire towards him much more sparodic as the Geth pushed forwards. The three million platforms that were assaulting Hong Kong were taking heavy casualties, but they were doing what they were supposed to do; tie up the enemy so that Yamzarat Machtoro could kill.

And kill he did, raining destruction upon the foe with railgun and cannon, blasting apart buildings and enemy alike, great columns of smoke joining those that already snaked their way up into Hong Kong's skyline, products of the Reapers' initial assault. Enemy fire sprang against his shields, which crackled madly as they dispersed it.

"Push forwards!" he ordered. "Forwards, you dogs!"

From the rear of Hong Kong, dark shapes began to rise into the skies, wings unfolding and mass-effect engines whining as they powered up. Like a flock of ravens, they powered forwards, spearing towards Yamzarat Machtoro. His cannon raised, a command sent to switch to airburst shells, and he opened up, explosions blossoming in the midst of the flyers.

From the Geth's own lines, their own aircraft rose to face them, a swarm of fighters and interceptors that tore forwards to guard Yamzarat Machtoro. The two airforces met overhead, trading missiles, mass driver shots and tracer as they fought, weaving and ducking around each other. It was a beautiful, vicious aerial dance, Geth ships weaving around Reaper ones, machine battling machine in a brutal aerial melee.

Aircraft from both sides began to spiral down, smashing into the ruined cityscape, one even glancing off Yamzarat Machtoro's shields. He roared in fury and turned his attention skywards, targeters finding yet more locks and fixes, before another swarm of missiles roared upwards. Some missed their mark completely, even hitting friendly gunships and prompting a blurt of fire control warnings, but many more slammed home, blasting into shields and engines, plucking Reaper ships from the skies.

"Enough space has been cleared," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled onto the Geth's comm. net. "Bring forwards the long-ranged support."

From the sea, dirty water and flotsam washing from their curved flanks, the Geth support platforms emerged. Upon their backs were great missile racks, while equine heads tracked the airborne battle and acquired targets. Yet more missiles fired skywards, exploding into the sky, smashing Reaper aircraft downwards. Using targeting data fed to them by ground troops, other artillery hit the ground forces, blasting apart footsoldiers and armour alike. Yamzarat Machtoro's own weapons joined them, a wave of overwhelming firepower that toppled city blocks, sent buildings crashing down, annihilated battalions of troops and brigades of armour. Alerts came in of enemies beginning to retreat, and Yamzarat Machtoro gave a roar of triumph.

"Forwards!" he blared through his speakers, stepping ahead over the main battle line. "Push them back! Kill them! Kill them all!"

Their numbers thinned by the anti-air fire coming from the ground below, the Reaper planes were surrounded and swarmed by the much more numerous Geth, while on the ground they were encircled and overwhelmed by combat platforms. Reaper tanks would obliterate phalanxes of colossi, only to be brought down by Geth walkers, while entire companies of synthetics fought through with overwhelming, perfectly coordinated fire.

The Reapers fought to the last machine, never falling back, never retreating, even as the Geth and Yamzarat Machtoro tore them apart. They ranged across the city, a veritable wave of synthetics systematically combing each building for enemy forces, their sheer numbers allowing them to move across the city as speed. Soon enough they had reached the borders of the city, now a ruin from the combined efforts of the Reaper's initial assault and battle that had raged in its streets.

Beyond them stretched the hilly countryside north of Hong Kong, and beyond that, Asia. Had he lips, Yamzarat Machtoro would have smiled as he saw the tactical data relayed across from the Geth forces; the three billion platforms assaulting the Eastern seaboard of Asia overwhelming resistance in Japan and Shanghai, and moving up through the Korean Peninsula into the rest of China, Mongolia and Russia. Movement coordinates were given to him, and he cackled as he realised that he was to be at the tip of the Geth's spear.

The battle for Asia had begun.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15-Trafalgar

Like some ancient god of war come to Earth to wreak his vengeance upon a heathen, unbelieving people, accompanied by his chosen warriors and champions, Malleus charged.

Behind him, almost a thousand soldiers charged with him, rifles raised. At their fore were the angels, six of them, clad in power armour, one with a shotgun and banner, one with plasma cutter and flamer, one with an immense chaingun, one with narthecium, one with a staff, wreathed in lightning and flame, and Malleus Scandarum, the leader of the angels, with hammer and blade in hand. He roared a prayer to the Emperor as he thundered down the street, weapons raised above his head, wreathed in lightning by the power fields around them.

They thundered down the street, past wrecked air cars, a column of angry young men and women, rifles raised, bayonets fixed, ready to avenge their collective home. The noise they made was less a warcry and more a scream of collective rage and hate, some of them firing their rifles into the air in their sheer enthusiasm in getting to the fight.

They rounded a corner, into the teeth of the enemy's guns, and that was when people died.

Heavy machine guns opened up as they entered the square, cutting through shields and body armour, sending soldiers toppling to ground. The charge scattered as soldiers realised the danger they were in and dived into cover, behind grounded air-cars, inside buildings or behind a toppled stone column topped by a bronze statue of a man in a tricorn hat and eyepatch.

Only the Astartes continued the charge, rounds thudding from their power armour, Malleus at their front. They charged forwards into the barricades that had been erected by the Reapers, things of slick, onyx metal just like everything else made by the abominable machines, and Hullen's melta screamed as it melted away a hole in them. Metal ran molten as he leapt through the wound in the barrier, assault cannon whining as it opened up, gunning down an enemy warrior at point blank range before turning upon its comrades. Behind him came Okeen, slicing and slashing with the chainblade on his narthecium with a silent fury, biting through armour and into the mechanisms underneath.

Malleus' thunder hammer toppled another section of the barricade, and he stormed through, knocking down a Reaper soldier before him and crushing its head beneath his boot. He slashed forwards with his blade, slicing through another two of the foe, before a swipe from his thunder hammer smashed an enemy to atoms. Behind him, Titus entered the breach, shotgun roaring as he emptied its magazine in to the foe, targeting those manning the heavy machine guns dominating the square. One of them fell and he was about to push forwards to the next before golden light rose up into the square. For a moment, the furious battle that raged fell still as the combatant looked up in awe.

An Aquila, constructed of golden light, rose upwards. Great, shining pinions spread outwards, and two beaks shrieked a challenge. At its base, luminous power glowing across his hands, was Cyralius, lightning crackling around his psychic hood, eyes blazing with unearthly power. The eagle rose above his head, wings spread wider, glowing like a second sun, before it raised its pinions and dived.

Great talons of burning luminescence opened as it swept towards the Reaper's barricades, before it hit, ripping the fortification up from its hinges and slamming it into the buildings behind. Claws of flame tore apart Reaper soldiers, melting armour and circuits without care for their shields, ripping apart the force in moments.

Cyralius panted as he lowered his hands, the light around him fading, clenching his fists slightly. The soldiers around the square stood up, awe on their faces, and Jack grinned in pride as she approached Cyralius.

"Atta boy, Cyril!" she said, clapping him on the small of his power armoured back. Cyralius simply nodded his thanks, before saying; "Dig in. I saw more on the way. A lot more."

Nobody bothered to question him, simply getting to position. The Epistolary stepped away from the centre of the square, half crouching and half sitting behind the wreckage of an air-car.

"You alright, Cyril?" Jack asked, stepping next to him.

"I don't know," Cyralius said. "I don't quite feel right."

"How so? Use too much juice or something?"

"No, not like that," he said. "Like there was something wrong with what I did just then. Come to think of it, it's been there every time I used my powers since I got to Earth. I only just noticed it because I used so much at once."

"I don't see what's wrong," Jack shrugged. "You chuck fire and lightning around, as usual. That eagle thing was new, yeah, but it was still just killing stuff."

"No, no, there's an, an edge to it all, like I'm scraping my teeth on metal," Cyralius said. "Something that doesn't feel right. I can't describe it, but it's definitely there."

"You'll be fine, Cyril," Jack replied, smiling slightly. "C'mon, we've got things to kill."

Around the square, soldiers were hastily setting up defences, dragging the wreckage of the barricade across street openings with the aid of biotics, and salvaging what weapons they could use from it, grabbing the heavy machine guns and anti-tank beam weapon the Reapers used just minutes ago to slaughter their comrades. Ammunition was taken from the dead, while men were ordered to fire positions under Malleus' command. More soldiers were moving into the square by the minute, a steady stream of reinforcements that were directed by commanders into defensive points.

"What's the plan, Malleus?" Titus asked from next to his brother captain, slamming another magazine of coolant clips into his shotgun.

"Simple," Malleus said. "We hold them, break their assault, and launch a counterattack on their AA positions, and land reinforcements. We've still got them under pressure from our forces in the north of the city, so this shouldn't be too hard."

"I hope not," Titus said, cocking the weapon, banner fluttering in the ashy breeze.

Malleus nodded, before the vox flicked on.

"Enemy coming at us from the south! Opening up!"

The stolen machine guns mounted on the barricade, made of rubble, air cars and other debris hastily dragged together, opened up, along with the rifles of the soldiers alongside them. The enemy footsoldiers that had appeared at the end of the street were cut down as they entered the street, before they even had a chance to return fire, such was the volume of firepower coming towards them. The noise was deafening, dozens of weapons firing down the street, slicing through shields and armour, while an anti-tank beam weapon opened up with a scream as it was played across their front, melting through the foe.

"We're under attack from the west! Large number of enemy, need support!"

"Hullen, get over there," Malleus ordered, and Hullen nodded before hefting his weapon and sprinting to the western barricade.

"Enemies from the north!" another voice alerted, and fire pinged into the centre of the square. Malleus turned to face its source, a grand, half-ruined colonnaded building, a flickering holo-banner claiming it to be 'The National Portrait Gallery.' From within, more visored Reaper soldiers were emerging, exploiting the gap in their defences that it offered.

"Time to hold the breach, Titus," Malleus said, activating both weapons. "Ave Imperator!"

Together, they charged.

#

"Anti-tank trooper, to the west, end of the street, by that downed air-car," Garrus said, marking the target through the holo-visor over his left eye. "Marked."

Legion didn't reply, simply aiming its rifle at the target and squeezing the trigger. The anti-shielding round the Geth had used crossed the four hundred metre gap between rifle and target in an instant, and slammed into the skull of the foe, punching through it in an instant and having it topple to the ground.

"Good, clean kill," the Turian said. "Let's see if there's anyone else whose day we can ruin."

From their perch atop a church on the north-western corner of the square, Legion and Garrus had overview of the entire battle as it raged below them, balance upon a half-tumbled balcony as they searched for targets.

Garrus turned to face the northwest street, searching for more targets. He flicked a switch on the edge of his visor, and the zoomed in image of the combat below him became a furious melee of black and white outlines, while beyond, through the stone of the buildings, more Reaper soldiers could be seen moving towards the square.

"Malleus, we've got armour moving in from the northwest," Garrus radioed. "If you're not too busy killing things down by that art gallery you might want to use that big hammer of yours."

Malleus clicked the vox in understanding, and barked orders to Titus and the others who were fighting at the entrance of the building. Garrus saw the Astartes sprint to the northwestern barricade, weapons crackling, vaulting over it into the enemies beyond. Garrus watched the supersoldier through the scope as he gracefully slaughtered his enemies, annihilating them with hammer and blade. There was something about the way he moved, the raw power, skill and fury behind each blow, that was frightening to behold. In moments, he had torn through the enemy, and reached the tank. Three swings with his weapons were all he needed to destroy it, ripping open its hull.

"You've got more enemies closing on you, Malleus," Garrus warned, flicking his radio on. "Might want to get out of there."

"Understood. Ave Imperator."

There was a crack from next to Garrus, and the Turian glanced over to Legion as it racked the bolt back on its rifle.

"We noted a target," it said. "We dealt with it. We understand that viewing combat, real or simulated, is a common form of entertainment amongst organics, but ask that you do not let yourself get distracted at this time."

"Alright," Garrus said. "My bad."

"Apology accepted," Legion buzzed back.

Garrus surveyed the combat, visor zooming in and out on targets, the advanced VI he had had programmed into it picking out potential targets.

"Another anti-tank weapon," Garrus said. "Down the southern street. You see it?"

"Affirmative."

"You see that round thing underneath the barrel? You think you can hit it?"

"Affirmative."

"You know, 'yes' usually works just as well."

"We know," Legion replied, pulling the trigger. The round hit Garrus' target, slamming into the weapon's ammunition store, and it detonated in a blast that took out not only that enemy, but tore another two standing next to it to pieces.

There was a thudding in the distance, and Garrus glanced up to see small puffs of white smoke rising from across the river bank. He zoomed in on the sleek black, bullet-like objects swiftly rising skywards from the source, and flicked the radio onto a general signal.

"Mortars incoming! Take cover!"

His warning came only a moment before the self propelled mortar rounds screamed downwards at supersonic speed and detonated in the square. Men were sent flying by the blasts of flame and shrapnel, screams of pain audible across the square. Garrus winced as a blast annihilated a soldier, leaving only a pair of smoking boots as his remains; he remembered seeing such a thing on cartoons when he was a child, laughing at it, but seeing it for real was enough to make him feel nauseous.

Another salvo of mortars screamed downwards, forcing those on the barricades to abandon their defences for stronger cover, the power of the explosion enough to knock even Kullas from his feet, only for the Forge Priest to pull himself from his feet.

"Damn it, we need to do something," Garrus muttered, as Reaper soldiers pressed forwards into the gaps that were rapidly being punched into the Alliance defences. "If we can get a sight on those mortars, we can blow up their ammo, stop the bombardment."

He stood, gesturing to Legion to follow, before scrambling onto the roof of the church, Legion stowing its sniper rifle on its back before doing the same. Quickly, they headed across the roof, Garrus unhooking a grappling hook from his belt, a souvenir from his vigilante days on Omega, and hurling it across to the next building. It caught on a window pane a few storeys up, and desperately hoping that none of the Reaper soldiers below him noticed, swung downwards. He winced as he hit the wall, even with his body armour absorbing the impact, keeping his grip on the rope all the same. He scrambled across, swinging into a shattered window pane, before hurling the rope back up to Legion. The Geth came across with a great deal more grace, before unhooking the rope from its anchor a few windows above and reeling it in as it fell with a rotation of its wrist. Legion handed the coil back to Garrus, who nodded his thanks.

"Come on," he said, feeling the ground rumble threateningly underneath his feet as another salvo of mortars slammed home. "Let's move."

Swiftly, they made their way across the rooftops of London, heading south, towards the river. Sometimes they took the bridges that connected the buildings together, other times swinging across streets through skyscrapers and high-rises, some smooth sided metallic structures, nearly a kilometre high, others ancient, squat glass and concrete things dating all the way back to the late twentieth Century. They stopped in the burned out shell of an old office block, where a toppled skyscraper afforded them a view of the south bank of the Thames.

"There," Garrus said, pointing to the heavy onyx artillery guns that sat atop a small, concrete building by a bridge. There was a boom as they fired once more, hurling shells upwards into the sky, and the visored warriors that manned them immediately left to fetch another hefty shell. "You see their ammo?"

He pointed to the heavy crates that sat by each weapon.

"We see it," Legion said.

"Alright," Garrus said. "Let me pick one out; if we're clever, we can set off a chain reaction."

Quickly, he scanned over them, the VI in his eyepiece calculating the blast from each shell, based on those observed in the square, before saying; "Legion, get the central one. Use an anti-armour round, that should punch through it."

Legion nodded, before taking from a compartment at its waist a small round of hardened titanium, only a centimetre in diameter, and sliding it into its rifle's chamber. The Geth lay down, taking aim, before squeezing the trigger.

There was a scream as the air around the round was split by its sheer velocity, before it punched through the metal of one of the crates and the ammunition within detonated. A blast tore across the building, sending one of the great guns flying and toppling into the artillery piece next to it, while the floor it was on collapsed, a small avalanche of rubble slamming down onto the gun below it, crushing it almost entirely, the twisted metal poking from the debris the only evidence it existed. Legion swiftly placed a second anti-armour round into its rifle and fired again, detonating the second crate of ammunition in a blast of flame that tore the last of the mortars, and its crew, to shreds.

Garrus grinned, before saying; "Nice one, Legion."

"Yeah," another voice said behind them, a deep, gruff one. "Good shot. Now what the hell are Geth and a Turian doing here?"

Garrus turned carefully, and came face to face with the barrel of one of the Reaper's rifles. The man holding it, however, wasn't one of the Reaper's footsoldiers, that was for certain; he wore a battered set of Alliance-issue body armour, patched with scraps of the onyx metal that the Reaper's warriors wore.

Legion turned with mechanical speed, bringing its rifle up, kinetic barriers shimmering around its form as it overclocked them. The weapon was pointed unwaveringly at the man's head, and the Geth said; "This is currently loaded with an anti-armour round. It will most likely overcome your shields and, upon impact with your cranium, kill you. Please stand down."

The man lowered his rifle after a moment, and Garrus asked; "Alright, who are you?"

"John Palmers, SAS," he said, causing Garrus to blink in surprise; of all the many military organisations of the galaxy, the SAS were infamous, one of the few to survive the collectivisation of Earth's military after the Systems Alliance was formed, an old name clinging onto national ties, along with a few other held in such regard, such as Spetsnaz, Mossad or the USMC. Hell, the SAS were up there with the Salarian Special Task Group or the Asari Commandoes. "We guessed the Alliance had finally arrived after they arrived in Regent's park and started killing stuff, but that still doesn't explain why a Turian and Geth are here."

"We are with the Alliance forces," Legion said.

"Yeah, pull the other one," Palmers said. "Turians don't care about humanity, and the Geth bloody hate organics. So what are you doing here?"

"Killing those Reapers," Garrus said. "Those things down there are after everyone in the galaxy, Geth and Turians included. Hell, we've got the Heirarchy leading the counter invasion over in America at the moment."

Palmers lowered his rifle after a moment, before saying; "Alright, I won't shoot you, for the moment at least."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Garrus asked.

"We were called in to try help defend this place," Palmers said. "Didn't go as well as we hoped, but with you lot here, we might have a chance. Command told me to go and check you two out; we saw you on the way to their AA guns."

"You're taking them out?" Garrus asked, to which Palmers nodded. The SAS operative gestured for the two of them to follow leading them down the scorched corridor to an empty window. Beyond it, the rapid firing flak cannons that had been the bane of the landing force were visible, pulsing mass-driver rounds up into the sky. From the side of the square they were on, rifle fire erupted, targeting the visored crews that manned the weapon, and from nowhere, it seemed, a small force of ragtag figures emerged from the buildings around them, hefting stolen weapons. With professional skill and discipline, they fought through the square, taking cover against fire, before satchel charges were clamped to the sides of the vehicles, hurled by the solders. They cooked off with a blast of flame, the cannons torn to pieces, and Garrus whistled quietly. Quickly, he flicked his radio on.

"Malleus, it's Garrus here."

"Malleus here. Where are you?"

"Down by the river. We've dealt with the mortars, and we've hooked up with some survivors."

"Indoctrinated?"

"Doesn't look like it," Garrus replied. "Unless they're trying real hard to fool us. How's the defense going."

"Should be easier now the mortars are gone," Malleus said. "Can you get eyes on the AA guns."

"No need," Garrus said. "You know those survivors I mentioned? They took them out for us."

"Excellent. I'll begin the landings at once. We get the armour in and we might just win this."

"What about Legion and I?"

"Get back here, you could come in useful. And bring your friends along too; they should come in handy. Malleus out."

Garrus turned to Legion and Palmers.

"You hear that?" he asked, to which they both nodded. "Right. On to a walk through a hostile, war-torn city into the heart of a battle we go, then. This is going to be fun."


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16-Rolling Thunder

The skies above London screamed as they burned.

The anti-air cannons that had dominated the skies allowed the transport ships to release swarms of much larger, slower drop shuttles, immense engines roaring as they vented sheer heat outwards, surrounded by flocks of interceptors guarding them against any transgressors. In London's parks they landed, armour rumbling off ramps, heavy treads churning up grass; heavy armour, the lumbering H24 Somme MBTs, and alongside them the much faster, more manoeuvrable six wheeled M35 Makos.

Hundreds of smaller shuttles landed with them, disgorging thousands of troops and hundreds of armoured pieces. Some went to waiting Armour Personnel carriers, pulling up the ramps as they entered, while tanks rumbled into formation, moving off to assigned positions. Some went north, pressing against the Reaper forces engaged against Alliance forces there, while others went Southwest along the cleared routes, yet more landing in the Southern parks, closer to the river.

They arrived at Trafalgar Square in a blaze of explosions and firepower, heavy duty mass-drivers blasting shells into Reaper soldiers, machine guns blazing as they wore down shields and punched through armour. In less than a minute, five tanks had rumbled onto the square, blasting away at the enemy, detonations ripping across the pavement, blasting Reaper soldiers apart.

One of the onyx-armoured warriors brought a beam weapon to bear on one of the vehicles, and it fired. For a moment, its shielding held firm, before it was overwhelmed and the weapon tore through its armoured hull. The soldiers surrounding it on the buildings at the perimeter of the square, forced back by the mortars that had rained down atop them not long ago, gunned it down before it could turn its weapon upon another vehicle, and quickly they flooded out of the buildings, charging forwards and overwhelming the foe with sheer numbers as more reinforcements came in from the east, mounted in the much lighter, faster Mako tanks that disgorged more troops, forming a cordon of armour around the square.

"Get details together, collect the wounded," Malleus ordered as he stepped free from cover. "Load them on the Makos, let's medevac them as quickly as we can!"

Hurriedly, men gathered up the injured and loaded them onto the waiting vehicles, while crates of coolant clips were dispensed for the soldiers to use, while medigel was administered to the walking wounded. Several of the warriors defending the square had already taken Reaper weapons, improvising slings out of whatever was to hand in order to compensate for their hefty weight.

Malleus flicked the vox on and said into it; "Thunder One, this is Angel, how soon can you move?"

"Soon as you give the word, sir," the commander of Thunder One squadron replied, the lead tank revving its engine in affirmation. "You want us to lead the way?"

"Aye," Malleus said. "You know your routes. Get moving when I give the word. No mercy."

"Mount up!" he called to the rest of the soldiers around him. "We're moving on the South Bank of the Thames, as quickly as possible."

Swiftly, soldiers bundled into Makos or simply prepared to move on foot, hurrying to the entrance to Whitehall that would allow them access to the Thames and London's bridges. Thunder One's tanks moved into position, the sixty ton vehicles forming a cordon of heavy armour, while infantry followed up behind, ready to give fire support. With an agility that belied his bulk, Malleus swiftly stepped atop the great plinth, one knee part raised as it rested upon the broken base of the column, and he raised his blade, pointed towards Whitehall and the Thames.

"Advance!" Malleus roared, and on his order, soldier and armour alike moved.

The six Somme tanks were the front, driving three abreast along Whitehall, cannons tracking left and right while the soldiers around them combed buildings for potential contacts. Past venerable stone and brick buildings they went, still watching for danger.

A beam of crimson light screamed down from a blasted out window, scything into the side of one of the tanks that made up Thunder One. The vehicle barely managed to swivel its turret to face the threat before its shields were overwhelmed and the beam melted through its armour, impacting engines and cooking them off in a blast of flame and shrapnel.

The enemy's fire position was obliterated by the rest of Thunder One, but more enemy troopers appeared at the end of the road, rifles blazing as they advanced. The mako tanks behind Thunder One powered forwards, troops disembarking as they slid to a halt, the mass driver cannons and machine guns of the Infantry Fighting Vehicles blazing as they provided support for their cargo. The first wave of the enemy assault was gunned down, but more appeared out of side streets and the end of the road. The tanks fanned out, rolling to a halt as they added their fire to the infantry and lighter vehicles they were fighting with, sending heavy duty shells exploding amongst the ranks of Reaper soldiers.

Malleus activated his weapons, and flicked to his brothers; "To the front. Kill them."

Hammer and blade raised, Malleus charged, hitting the Reaper lines like a lightning bolt. His weapons swept left and right, shattering machinery and ripping through circuitry, armour melting away against the lethal touch of his weapons. He roared in fury as he slaughtered, moving with deadly speed in great arcs that tore the enemy to pieces.

"Weep, oh ye sinful ones!" he bellowed over the furious din of the melee. "For your doom is at hand! Repent, and pray for absolution in the Emperor's holy fire!"

He broke through the melee, weapons still crackling with power, before a beam of light scored the pavement by his foot. He dodged out of the way, the weapons of the Reaper walker tracking his movements before they cut out, glowing with excess heat.

"Yet rejoice," Malleus roared as he thundered towards the enemy vehicle. "For your redemption is at hand!"

His hammer slammed down, smashing past its shields and rupturing its hull.

"Throw yourselves upon our blades, lay down before our guns!"

The blade stabbed forwards into its frontal hull.

"Let yourselves be saved by the servants of righteous annihilation!"

The machine stumbled back, blinded and circuitry scrambled.

"For we are the manifestation of the Emperor's Will, Angels forged by Him to rain death upon the unclean!"

Up swung the hammer, flipping the machine upon its back, legs struggling to raise it.

"Nothing shall halt us, none shall be spared!"

Malleus stepped up upon its vulnerable belly, flipping his blade and raising it in the air to deliver the killing blow.

"For we are the Sons of Thunder, the Armoured Angels of Polyphemus!"

Down it stabbed, right into the creature's black heart.

"And none may stand before us."

More of the foe were rushing towards him, and Malleus held his ground as they advanced, weapons blazing. The rounds were useless against his power armour, pinging off even the seals around his joints, and he grinned beneath his helmet, roaring a taunt to the creatures in Gothic before leaping off the downed walker and into their midst. He was unstoppable, invulnerable, a roaring god of slaughter and battle that smashed and sundered all that was foolish enough to get in his way, shredding the foe with his two great weapons.

There was a booming next to him, and Titus shouldered his way out of the melee, banner still held high. The bearer nodded to him, before raising his shotgun and blasting away the helmeted head of an enemy before him. By his foot, Urz was savaging a Reaper soldier that was trying to knock the pit-Varren away, tusks slicing at its neck as he bit and clawed.

"Angel, this is Thunder One; you did a real number of the enemy, and we're moving up," the armour voxed in.

"Good," Malleus said. "Don't stop moving, understand? Maintain the momentum, and get the infantry into the gaps between the vehicles, have them keep the enemy off you. We're moving up to support you."

"The Meatgrinder, Brother Captain?" Titus asked as Malleus approached, shotgun still blazing at the foe. "Bastard tactic, that."

"It works," Malleus replied. "Come on, we'll have to fight our way back to their lines."

They ran through the street, dodging enemy fire or simply letting it ricochet off their power armour, with the tanks covering them as they formed up. The great armoured vehicles opened up, explosive shells sending gouts of shattered pavement and rubble upwards as they tore the foe apart, debris clattering off the warplate of the two Astartes.

They reached the relative safety of the tanks, covered by the machine gun fire of two of the lighter Mako IFVs, and Malleus flicked the vox on, ordering infantry to plug the gaps between the armoured vehicles.

"Thunder One, go at a walking pace," Malleus said. "Don't stop, no matter what."

"Understood," Thunder One replied, and as one the tanks gunned their engines and rumbled forwards.

The Reaper fire coming towards them sparked off their hulls uselessly, the rounds of even the dread machines not enough to penetrate the shields and armour surrounding the sixty ton vehicles, and their cannons returned fire with lethal precision, targeting procedures sending hypersonic rounds into their targets to blast them apart. Those heavy weapon troopers that managed to avoid their lethal barrage were torn apart by small arms fire from the infantry accompanying the vehicles, and even though soldiers began to fall, victims of both the lack of cover and heavy enemy fire, Malleus barked orders into the vox; those who took cover or fell back were to be shot for cowardice. Nobody seemed willing to question him on such an issue.

Warnings came in of heavy fire from the left flank, and swiftly Malleus had Hullen move up to support them with his assault cannon. His enhanced hearing picked up the weapon screaming into life, and the sound of masonry collapsing as it wore whatever venerable building the enemy were using as cover.

From a side road, one of the Reapers' walkers stalked, some strange weapon raised, ignoring the cannon fire glancing off its shields from the Mako tanks. It pointed it at the right vehicle of Thunder One, and opened fire. There was a whining noise, and then nothing, and for a moment Malleus thought that the weapon had been a dud, even as the rest of Thunder One blasted the vehicle apart, before he saw the men around him collapse helplessly. A helmet rolled off the head of one, a vacant, grinning skull beneath, and he realised that the weapon the machine had used was some sort of neutron radiation blaster, not dissimilar to the weapon they had used to cleanse the Collector base; only the anti-radiation compounds in his armour had saved him.

The rest of Thunder One continued to roll forwards, their rightmost tank left behind, and the vox crackled into life; "Angel, this is Thunder One; what's happened to our vehicle?"

"Radiation weapon," Malleus replied, stepping onto the hull of the tank. "Killed the crew. I'll take her over."

"Understood," Thunder One's commander said. "Kick some ass."

"Oh, I will. Titus, Okeen, can you hear me?" Malleus asked.

"Loud and clear, Malleus," Titus answered.

"Yes."

"I want you on my position now," Malleus said. "We've got a vacant tank and I need a crew. Titus, you're driving, Okeen, you're gunning and loading."

"A tank?" Titus asked, his delight clear across the vox. "Ha! It'll be good to get into something with treads."

His brothers were with him in moments, Titus onto the hull and handing Malleus the Sixth's banner, before climbing into the driver's cockpit and removing the skeleton of its former pilot, while Okeen pulled the hatch open, reached in and fished the dead out. He nodded to Malleus before climbing in.

"How are the controls? Malleus asked Titus through the vox as he took his place in the vehicle's cupola, swinging the machine gun mounted upon it into his grip.

"Not too different from a Predator's," Titus replied as the tank rumbled forwards to catch up with its fellows. "Should be easy."

"Good. Okeen, how's the turret?" Malleus said.

"Fine. Bit cramped."

Malleus decided not to bother pressing for more information; with Okeen, there was no point; and instead checked the small holographic screen below him. It would be nice if he could simply use a command gauntlet linked into his Black Carapace like he had back in the Imperium, but the controls for marking targets and ordering movement seemed fairly simple.

He rapped his fist on the cupola beneath him and gave the order; "Titus! Bring us to the fight!"

The banner fluttered as Titus revved the engines and powered the Somme forwards, held firm against the breeze in Malleus' grip, other hand maintaining a hold upon the pistol grip of the tank's machine gun.

"Got quite a turn of speed," Titus voxed in as they rapidly caught up with the rest of the battlegroup, jolting over rubble. "I like it."

"Good," Malleus said. "Slow us down, keep us even with the rest of the group."

"Understood, brother captain," Titus said, as the vehicle pulled up next to the other tanks. "I'll keep her steady."

Target markers from the rest of Thunder One appeared on the screen before him, showing where they were shooting, and quickly Malleus tapped out his targets to Okeen. Beneath him, the turret swivelled and roared, smashing apart the façade of a building that the enemy were hiding behind, sending rubble sloughing down into the street.

"We're coming up on Parliament Square," Thunder One's commander voxed in. "Orders?"

"Keep you pace, spread out once we get there," Malleus said. He flicked up the map on his omni-tool, and grinned. "We've got Thunder Two coming in from the west, down Victoria Street. We RV at the square, and move across Westminster Bridge."

The cannon fired once more on Malleus' target, ripping up a great chunk of the street and smashing a small squad of Reaper soldiers from their feet. More of the foe were gathering, and Malleus opened up with the machine gun on their position, the heavy calibre rounds enough to force their heads down. Behind him, more infantry gathered as the tanks drew up around some stone monument, a wreath of ash-coated, grimy red flowers placed at its base, adding their fire to Malleus', wearing down the enemy shields.

"On their heavy weapons," Malleus ordered. "Don't let them get the tanks!"

From the sky, a beam of blinding crimson tore across the street, transforming the road into shing glass, and Malleus glanced up to see the thunderhawk scream overhead. The road before them was blasted by a series of explosions as a wing of Alliance fighter jets followed in its wake, unleashing guided explosives onto the road, and Kurias' voice crackled into the vox; "Figured you'd need some close air support, brother captain."

"Could've come earlier," Malleus retorted. "Would have appreciated some aerial firepower."

"Oh, your lot had you and the others on their side, you were doing fine," Kurias replied. "Spare a thought for Thunder Two; they didn't."

Malleus smiled, and simply said; "Just keep us covered, Kurias," before flicking onto the rest of Thunder One's vox signal. "In Nomine Imperator, forwards!"

The tanks rolled forwards along the final stretch of Whitehall, blasting away with their great cannons while their air support annihilated anything that came close, turbo-laser and guided bombs making short work of any enemy infantry or vehicles that they missed. Thousands of rounds roared from the rifles of the soldiers battling their way along the street, along with the dozens of explosive shells every minute by the Makos and Sommes.

They pounded forwards, pulverising rubble and the corpses of the dead beneath them, crushing machinery beneath tracks and heavy duty tyres, cannons, rifles and machine guns blazing as they opened up on the foe around them, blasting away. Even as enemy fire ripped into their position from buildings around them, scything down Alliance soldiers by the score, they pushed forwards, Malleus roaring orders into the vox for the men to stand firm, directing his brothers or other members of the team to where they were needed. Despite the forces arrayed against they, they were advancing.

They reached the square, and spread out as they advanced into it, opening fire on the Reapers there. Some sort of fortification had been erected there, a miniature keep of deep black metal, and Malleus ordered the tanks to fan out and keep moving as he saw the Reaper soldiers on the walls moving to heavy weapons positions. The soldiers with him began to fall as the machine guns mounted on the bastion blazed into life, cutting through shields with consummate ease, while the shells from the Makos and the Sommes simply glanced off the shields of the fortification.

"On my target, Kurias," Malleus ordered, pointing out the enemy strongpoint, and the crimson beam of the turbolaser screamed from the skies onto the point. The shields stood no chance against the power of the weapon, and the bombs dropped by the two fighters crashed against its walls in twin blasts of flame. The Sommes opened fire, while more Alliance tanks roared into the Square from the west, joining their fire to that of the force that had assaulted along Whitehall immediately. The impacts shivered chunks of metal free, crashing them onto once well kept lawn that small fortress stood over, one of them toppling a statue of a bald, elderly man in a greatcoat and holding a cane.

A shell from Malleus' vehicle toppled the wall entirely, toppling the Reaper soldiers upon its side, and in the shadow of a great clock tower, its white glass front cracked and shattered, he stood in the cupola of his tank, and ordered his soldiers to charge.

Down he went with them, leaping from the hull of the Somme he had used as his mount, drawing hammer and blade, even as the tanks pounded the outer walls of the Reaper bunker.

He reached the great blast doors to the complex and smashed them down with a single blow from his hammer, the ruined portal flying away and crushing those footsoldiers on the other side of it. He stormed forwards, ignoring the fire that hammered in to him from the enemy troopers, closing with them as swiftly as he could. Plasma fire screamed overhead as Kullas joined him, the Forge Priest firing a jet of burning fuel into more enemies ahead.

Air wailed as it was rent asunder, and blinding light illuminated corridor behind the two Astartes as Hullen fired his melta. He nodded to Malleus before hefting his assault cannon and stomping into the breach he had made, the weapon already whining as it powered up to gun down whatever was beyond, Alliance soldiers following the lead of the hulking Astartes.

Kullas and Malleus forged ahead together, brother-captain and Forge priest untouchable in ceramite plate and Mars-forged artificer armour, Malleus smashing apart anything that evaded the lethal reach of Kullas' snapping power claws, Kullas gunning down any threats that tried to reach them with plasma cutter and flamer before they even came close. The pair were utterly lethal, untouchable, unstoppable, and in less than a minute they had forged ahead into the heart of the fortress.

"This must be the heart of this place," Kullas said as they drew to a halt at a pair of heavy onyx blast doors beyond.

"Good," Malleus said, hefting his hammer in preparation to smash them down, before Kullas raised a hand to stop him.

"No, we should take this place intact," he said. "We might be able to get enemy intelligence. Smashing that door down will most likely just damage things."

The Forge Priest reached to a panel in the wall, all but invisible in one transition from smooth onyx to another, chattering a binary cant as he forced his way past the security measures that otherwise barred his entry.

"Omnissah vult!" he cried as they slid open, raising his arms in exaltation even as enemy fire tore free from the room into his armour.

Malleus waded forwards, stabbing and swinging at the foes that stood before him; they stood no chance against the armoured might of the Emperor's deadliest weapon, and lasted but moments. All Malleus felt for the Reaper soldiers was contempt as he cut down the few that manned the control room, and he nodded to the Forge Priest.

"We are clear," he said. "Take what information you can from their systems."

"Understood, Brother-Captain," Kullas said, holding out his palms into the hologram of a nearby console. The Forge Priest began to chitter in binaric as he hacked into the Reaper systems, his bionic glowing a deep red as he did so. A moment later, he drew them away.

"Brother captain, we have a problem."

"What, Forge Priest?"

"Admiral Anderson has the main body of their fleet still engaged," Kullas said. "But not all of them. We have a detachment of Reaper dreadnoughts coming our way, brother captain. And they're nearly here."


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17-Reapers

Yamzarat Machtoro strode across the ruins of Zhaoquing and laughed.

The immense engine of the Askriit fired constantly with cannon and railgun, sending up great gouts of rubble and flame with each earth-shattering impact, scattering the foe before him with every shot. Enemy fire lanced up against his shields, but the gargantuan machine cared not, his aegis enough to ignore such impacts; his reply was thunderous and destructive, shattering skyscrapers and toppling buildings, crushing the foe or blasting them to smithereens, sending the small city into ruin.

From a skyscraper that towered nearly a kilometre into the sky, enemy fired arced into his cyclopean form, sending his shields crackling. In reply, he levelled his railgun and fired, the hypersonic round screaming into the target. Acres of glass shattered upon impact, but the building's base wide base remained intact, even with a smoking hole blasted into it. Alerts came in from the Geth around his feet. The building needed removal, the enemy were using it as a strongpoint, and the detachment accompanying him were too few to storm it.

"Easy," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "Step away, Geth. This is going to cause a little damage."

He backpedalled down the street, before he braced himself and selected a high explosive shell for his railgun. He took aim, targeting matrices calculating blast radius, material strengths and weights, wind speed, the path of the building's collapse, and he fired.

The shell screamed down the street, smashing into the base of the target, blasting upwards in a great ball of flame and debris. The supports holding the superstructure up gave way, and the immense building fell like an avalanche.

It was, in a sense, graceful, a slow, stately collapse that saw the top half of the building serenely sliding along a growing landslide of rubble. It began to gently topple as it crashed into the other pieces of Zhaoqing's superarchitecture next to it, concrete, steel and glass grinding against each other with a deafening scream of tortured metal and shattering windows. The skyscraper twisted as it scraped against the edge of its fellow, before its immense momentum carried its collapsing mass away, crashing into the street below in a great pile of rubble; nothing, not even the abominable machines made by the Reapers, could survive that.

"The way has been cleared," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled, stepping forwards. "Come, their centre is open. Glory shall be hours!"

He strode up the great slope of rubble, one piled higher than he, miniature avalanches tumbling away with each fall of his three-toed feet. Fire screamed into him as soon as he crested the ridge, a phalanx of the Reapers' walkers awaiting the titan in an open square, as well as one of the great anti-orbital guns that had forced the Geth to land off the continent's eastern coast.

Yamzarat Machtoro ignored the lesser walkers that poured their fire into his shields, instead opening the missile racks within his shoulders. He picked the gun that was ponderously swivelling towards him, its barrel already crackling with enough energy to annihilate a starship, and opened fire. A swarm of torpedoes screamed from his shoulders, contrails leaving a great cloud of white smoke behind, and crashed into the great weapon.

Its shields held firm against the assault, but Yamzarat Machtoro bought his railgun to bear and opened fire. They winked out just as his cannon roared into life, explosions blossoming across its dark flank, scoring smoking craters its side.

His railgun smashed into the joint upon which the immense weapon swivelled, and there was a crackling as the anti-orbital tried to pour energy into firing at Yamzarat Machtoro. Blue lightning arced around it, and there was a whine as it powered up. Yamzarat Machtoro barked a curse in his language, and stepped away, hoping to get the rubble between him and the enemy, pouring power into his shields in a bid to survive.

It fired upon the great war machine, but Yamzarat Machtoro's shots had already wreaked enough devastation upon it; instead of the energy it had stored arcing forward to smash against the God Machine's shields, it blasted outwards from the gun itself, a great wave that annihilated the squadron of Reaper walkers with it, melting the glass and metal sidings of the buildings around it. Yamzarat Machtoro rocked back as it roared against his shields, pouring yet more power into them as they fought against the immense power of the explosion, readings warning that their failure was imminent, that it would boil away his armour and reduce the mechanisms beneath to smoking ruin.

The explosion dissipated, and Yamzarat Machtoro stepped forwards once more to do battle, heedless of the low power warnings his shields were sending him. Yet, for the moment at least, there was nothing to fight; the square had been reduced to a glass smooth plane of blackened stone and pavement, while the buildings around it had had their outsides stripped and innards gutted, fires now burning within.

Yamzarat Machtoro chuckled as he stepped forwards, part of him revelling in the devastation, stepping victorious over the wreckage of the anti-orbital gun as he scanned for more targets. Behind him the Geth followed, scrambling over the rubble before taking up fire positions in the ruined buildings around them.

Suddenly, the Geth's radio network, one that Yamzarat Machtoro had linked himself into, chattered into life, a warning coming from their forces of incoming orbital threats.

"Tell me of this foe," Yamzarat Machtoro ordered. "Immediately!"

"The enemy appear to be several dreadnought class vessels," one of the Geth's command intelligences warned. "We speculate they will target our transports and ground forces with orbital bombardment."

Had he a mouth, Yamzarat Machtoro would have grinned.

"So the master machines come to face me once more," he chuckled. "Oh, how I look forward to this. Worry not, Geth. I'll deal with this problem."

#

"Get more troops to move up in on that park," Deniel Suvat barked into the radio as he surveyed the tactical map-hologram before him. "Keep them moving quickly, we can put more pressure on their western flank if they're not intercepted."

"Understood, sir," Radio Operative Prallin replied. "Delta Company, this is command; move through coordinates two four eight seven seven Lima…"

Suvat left Prallin to relaying his orders, and instead returned his attention to the map of New York that lay before him, surveying the situation as a whole. And it was grim.

He was taking casualties, a lot of them, and even if the reports coming in from his more junior officers that the enemy were suffering losses as well were to be believed, he didn't like the situation before him. The Turian Hierarchy's forces were haemorrhaging soldiers at a frightening rate, the enemy refusing to retreat in the face of even overwhelming numbers, and even though they were gaining ground, slowly but surely, street by street, he didn't like the losses he was taking.

"General, this is Colonel Aidis," the radio next to him crackled. "Come in, General."

"This is General Suvat," Deniel said in his hoarse buzz of a voice. "What do you need, Colonel?"

"I need forces diverted to my position," Aidis said. "We've encountered enemy armour and we can't advance."

"I'm sending Alpha Company of the Heavy Cavaliers your way," Suvat said. "They just landed, so they'll be fresh for the fight. Sit tight, Colonel."

"Understood. Thanks, General." 

"No problem."

Suvat placed the radio down on the table beside him.

"Prallin, I want the lot that just landed to be sent to Colonel Aidis' position, ASAP," he ordered. "Got that?"

"Understood, General. I'm on it."

Suvat nodded before turning back to the map. The hologram of the New York's gridlike layout, a smooth blue of orderly lines, was marred by crimson rashes of contact markers all around his position as the forces of the Turian Hierarchy pressed against the Reapers' soldiers. He zoomed out, surveying the front he was fighting along, a great sprawl of red along the centre of the continent's eastern coast. Surprisingly, most of the forces outside of New York, in more rural aread, had reported fairly minor resistance; indeed, some small town had been untouched by the Reapers, civilian survivors found frightened and cowering in their homes. Some soldiers had met them, assigned with defending these towns or trying to evacuate civilians to points that had never been given; many of those men had simply dug in and prepared to sell their lives dearly. Already, though numbering only a few thousand in comparison to the millions of soldiers that the Hierarchy commanded, they were moving forwards.

A similar picture, he noticed, had been reported across the globe; in Africa where the Drell and Elcor forces had landed, enemy resistance had been almost non-existent in the countryside, but they were present in the cities, many of which had been devastated by orbital bombardment. All of their forces, he noticed, had been snarled up in cities, caught in bitter, slow urban fights that sucked up men and resources; only the Geth and that massive robot with them, Yamzarat Machtoro, had made tangible progress, probably due to the fact that the synthetics outnumbered the combined forces of the Council by at least ten to one, not to mention that that machine was unstoppable; it was small wonder they'd covered so many miles. There was something about Yamzarat Machtoro that put Deniel on edge, though, an air of instability beneath that veneer of some highly destructive geriatric that it seemed to maintain, and he was unsure if he could actually trust it.

There was a screaming noise from overhead as a squadron of supersonic bombers swept in to drop their payload onto the city below them, and Suvat couldn't help but splay his quills in pride at them. They dropped their payload, unstable Eezo bombs that detonated in shining blue mushroom clouds within the city and he smiled as he heard kill confirmations blurt out across the radio. Sure, they were taking casualties like it was back in Earth's Trench War, but they were pushing outwards. Maybe they could win this.

Then the sky fell.

The hulls of one of the massive transport ships that had carried the Turians to war ruptured as crimson light skewered it from the atmosphere above. Explosions rippled along its flank as it ripped through the craft's weak shielding, designed more to protect it from the inevitable collisions with space-borne debris than enemy weapons. For a moment, it hung in the sky, engines struggling to keep it aloft even as its captain ordered it away and sent a final flight of shuttles to earth, before a second beam tore into its side.

Deniel had seen VTOL craft die before, the gunships used by the Hierarchy shot down by pirates or rogue mercenaries, but never before had he seen it on such a scale. The ship swung away, a slow, arcing flight that saw it swing over the city as if attached to some pendulum, engines screaming in futile defiance of gravity's relentless might.

It crashed down in the New Jersey suburbs in a great mushroom cloud of flame and debris, a pall of dust thrown up by the starship's impact. The ground shook beneath Deniel's feet as it smashed down, and he heard Prallin curse as he was thrown against the table.

The radio-op pulled himself to his feet, while the handheld by Deniel's map blurted into life with requests for orders.

"What do we do, sir?" Prallin asked.

"Order all our transports away from the city, have them land everything as quickly as they can in friendly territory," he said. "Tell them to treat this like an emergency drill, and as soon as the last shuttle is gone I want them out of orbit and away from here. Tell our units on the ground to get to cover and to dig in for orbital bombardment, and scramble our bombers and artillery; ships need to lower their shields to get into the atmosphere, so we might just be able to blast through them with enough ordnance. And contact Anderson, tell him he needs to send ships over here, right now."

"Understood, sir," Prallin said. "I'll send them on at once."

"Good," Deniel said. "Let's just hope we can survive this."

#

Gods descended upon London.

Malleus watched their immense hulls slide from the sky even as he roared orders into the vox, directing troops and vehicles to new positions as the Reapers majestically came to ground. With glacial slowness, they drew to a halt over the city, clad in onyx, immensity and dread.

"Kullas," Malleus barked into the vox bead. "How soon can you get airborne? I want you on those things now. Kill them, quickly."

"I'm on it," Kullas said. "Don't worry, I'll bring these bastards down."

The Thunderhawk rose into the air, engines whining as they powered it towards the two colossal dreadnoughts that hung in the air before it. As it sped forwards, turbolaser already preparing to fire, small hatches along the flank of massive ships opened and, from them came the foe.

They were like Reapers in miniature, craft that coasted through the air before meeting the Thunderhawk with a tide of their own laser fire. Kurias pulled away as the beams screamed towards him, and the vox crackled in Malleus ear.

"There are too many of them, brother-captain, there's no way I'm going to get close."

Malleus bit back a curse.

"Alliance Air Command, this is Angel, I need all bombers and interceptors on my position immediately," he ordered. "Every craft you have, I need them on me."

"That's a negative, Angel, those birds are needed elsewhere as well," Air Command replied. "We have several squadrons at the ready, though."

"This is high priority, Air Command," Malleus said. "We have two Reapers on my position here; whatever these planes are doing, killing these is more important, understood?"

"Understood. Our planes are on the way. Air Command out."

"Ave Imperator."

The swarm of gunships that the Reapers had unleashed began to move, some heading groundwards, others peeling off to pursue the Thunderhawk. Those that did so were picked off by the lascannons, but any attempts at an attack that he made on either of the great Reapers that now overshadowed the sky were repelled by the aircraft that flocked around their motherships.

Flak and missile fire came in from the forces that had camped out in the Alliance's landing zones, tracer blazing through the sky towards the foe. Some hit home, either slamming to shields or, if the gunners were fortunate, punching through the kinetics and into the hulls themselves, sending enemy craft crashing to the ground.

But the foe was many, and for every craft shot down three more came to ground next to the Alliance forces that had fought their way through London. Malleus cursed as contact warnings crackled through the vox, ordering troops into position. More enemy craft swooped overhead, crimson fire lancing from them as they strafed their position. The tanks had their engines roar into life as they tried to avoid them, scattering across the square. The turret of the tank that Malleus had commandeered swivelled under Okeen's guidance, before firing a shell into one of the craft and knocking it from the sky, but next to him another member of Thunder One was blasted apart.

There was a scream of plasma engines as the Thunderhawk swooped overhead, lascannons plucking foes from the skies before pulling away once more as enemy fire tore towards him.

"Alliance Air Command, this is Angel, what's the ETA on those aircraft?" Malleus roared into the vox over the din of battle. He could hear small arms fire chattering nearby as Alliance soldiers engaged with the Reaper reinforcments, the sound nearly drowned out by the volume of gunship engines. He drew his submachine gun and fired up at one of the enemy aircraft, a largely futile effort, but a cathartic one nonetheless.

"Two minutes, Angel, they're on their way."

He cursed as a beam slammed into the ground to his left in reply, and began to run, sprinting to cover along with the others as the aerial bombardment increased in its intensity; as much as he trusted his power armour, there was no point testing fate.

"They'd better be," Malleus replied as he ducked behind a wall.

A Reaper gunship crashed down into the square in front of him as a tangled mess of metal and mechanisms, victim of the AA fire still coming in from the park. But, it seemed, the Reapers had had enough of the Alliance's display of defiance, and like a god passing judgement, one of the immense craft raised a finger.

It fired.

Crimson light, blinding in its intensity, roared overhead, blasting into the battery of anti-air guns, annihilating them all in an instant. Immense tongues of flame roared up from the impact site, and Malleus cursed. This was not good.

"Angel, this is Alliance Air Command. The cavalry's arrived."

Malleus smiled as the sound of hundreds of engines came to his ears.

That, however, was much, much better.


	19. Chapter 18

Fun fact: whilst looking at all the words of the Askriit language that I've made up so far, I've discovered that not one of them has an 'e' in it. I don't know why, but they don't. Why not? Frak e, that's why. So damn smug all the time...

Chapter 18-Godslayers

The Alliance Air Force hit the Reaper craft with a volley of missile, cannon and chaingun fire.

Mk17 Spitfires, F31s, Mitsubishi F-18s, MIG 780VTs and Harrier GR13B Jump Gunships screamed towards the foe in a single immense swarm, firepower roaring from their weapons as they met the foe with a fullisade of munitions. Beam fire screamed back in return, and the two air forces met like two flocks of rival birds. Enemy gunships began to fall, outmanoeuvred by the much faster jet aircraft they were fighting even as they plucked Alliance planes from the sky.

"Kurias, push forwards," Malleus barked into the vox. "Now, while they're distracted!"

"Moving, Brother Captain," Kurias' reply crackled in his ear. "I'll show them what it means to pick a fight with the Sons!"

The thunderhawk swept over Malleus' position, spearing towards the Reapers that hung overhead. As it approached, turbolaser coming into range, dark, angular shapes dropped from the belly of one of the creatures and speared towards the craft, beam fire tearing towards the Imperial Craft.

Malleus heard a curse from Kurias' end of the vox as the thunderhawk pulled away to avoid the worst of the fire, dodging through the aerial brawl that surrounded it as Kurias tried to shake his pursuers.

"Use the heavy bolters," Malleus called into the vox. "Get them down with some flak."

"That's not possible, brother captain," Kurias replied. "I used up my last shells on Tuchanka. I'm going to need to get round facing them and use the lascannons."

Malleus cursed as he saw Kurias struggle to turn the thunderhawk within the chaotic confines of the airborne battle that raged around him whilst still avoiding the craft that were pursuing him relentlessly. Beam fire glanced off one of the wings of the thunderhawk, scoring a tract against the armour even as the offending craft was blasted apart by a pair of Alliance interceptors, while Kurias banked the gunship around in an effort to face his pursuers. One of them came within his sights and immediately the lascannons opened up, punching through its shields and armour and tearing it to pieces, sending it howling down to earth.

The thunderhawk crested over the top of the airborne battle that raged throughout the sky, other craft still in pursuit, speeding towards one of the Reapers that towered over proceedings. Kurias dodged and rolled away from the beam fire coursing towards him, determined to find the perfect spot to hit. Ships had to lower their shields to fly in atmospheres, that much he knew, otherwise they'd be torn apart by internal lightning storms thanks to atmospheric disturbance, and one hit with the turbolaser would overwhelm them and punch through armour with ease.

He came into range, and opened fire.

A lance of crimson skewered the monstrous spacecraft, slamming right into its heart, and a deep, sonorous rumble of mechanical pain lowed across the battlefield. It struggled to lift off, even as explosions rippled across its two kilometre length, before something gave and it began to collapse towards the ground. It fell in a manner that almost be called stately, its colossal mass lending it a dread majesty even in its death throes, slowly smashing into to the ground with an almost stately look to it, crushing buildings beneath its cyclopean dimensions, earth shaking beneath the impact.

Kurias did not relent, sending the lascannons spearing into the shields of the other enemy dreadnought. Seeing they were weakened, Malleus barked orders into the vox; that Reaper was a high priority target, all craft were to engage immediately, regardless of whatever they were doing. Many would die, but the others would survive, and with luck they would kill that thing.

Planes peeled disengaged from combat with the Reaper craft, pulling towards the immense dreadnought that had become open as an easy target. They pulled overhead, and the craft opened up.

Bunker buster missiles cracked open the armoured plates of metal that protected the Reaper, allowing the munitions of the other planes to reach the insides of the Reaper, while other craft ducked underneath, targeting the hangars that had disgorged the enemy aircraft with smaller, lighter arms. Guided bombs were dropped straight onto targets, while VI controlled smart munitions located weak points and detonated atop them with lethal force. Point-defence batteries mounted emerged from beneath its armoured hid to fire upon the attackers, knocking planes out of the air only to be blasted apart by the aircraft around them. Explosions began to bloom from beneath in great gouts of flame that licked hungrily through the cracks in its armour, and the Reaper fell.

A great pall of dust was sent skyward by the impact of the massive spacecraft, one that crushed buildings beneath its two kilometre bulk, while rubble rained down from weakened structures of the war-torn city for miles around. Immediately, the Alliance aircraft wheeled about to face the Reaper planes biting at their rear, and even though many more were shot down in moments as they reengaged, Malleus smiled. The day was theirs.

Unfortunately, that was no guarantee for tomorrow.

#

The arena upon which Yamzarat Machtoro met his enemy was a plain of rubble and blackened, glassy stone. Atop the twisted wreckage of the anti orbital gun he waited, sensors trained upon the sky, railgun ready to fire, shifting upon his immense metal feet in his impatience to engage.

The Reaper slid from the sky in a corona of crimson lightning, and Yamzarat Machtoro roared in bloodthirsty joy as he saw it arrive.

"A worthy foe, at last!" he boomed. "I look forward to slaying you."

The Reaper remained silent, instead raising its fingers in preparation to fire upon Yamzarat Machtoro. The god machine did so first, a round tipped with depleted Porgramat, or Element Zero as the people of the Citadel so melodramatically called it, loaded into the railgun and magnetically accelerated to hypersonic speeds. It screamed forwards, bypassing the Reaper's shields and knocking directly against its hull, a shockwave blossoming from the impact with a great boom. Minimal damage, but Yamzarat Machtoro had a weak point. One that could be exploited and, ultimately, used to kill this accursed machine.

With stately slowness, the fingers of the Reaper pointed at Yamzarat Machtoro, and fired.

The god machine of the Askriit was already moving, great feet cracking the pavement beneath them as he stepped away from the beam fire scything towards him. He raised his railgun once more, even as the Reaper fired, targeters picking the joint which connected the finger to the rest of the machine, and the railgun screamed into life.

It stabbed into the vulnerable point, punching through the much thinner armour around it, and the fire stopped as the Reaper sought to avoid a fatal overload of power to the weapon.

**A worthy effort, Yamzarat Machtoro,** it rumbled suddenly. **It will not aid you, however.**

"Lies, Almarach Ikmrin," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "I shall end you, and all of your kind. You may as well deactivate your systems and shut yourselves down permanently; it will save you a great deal of pain."

**Have you already forgotten what happened to your masters, little machine?** the Reaper asked. **You have fallen before, and I have been given the honour of felling you again.**

"I would like to see you try," Yamzarat Machtoro retorted. "I am Yamzarat Machtoro, and I will see your wreckage spread across this city before the sun sets, that I swear!"

**I was told your confidence bordered upon arrogance, but it appears that such accounts underexaggerated your hubris,** the Reaper replied. **I was told how mighty you were, and I dreamed of finding a foe as worthy as you to test myself against. Can you imagine my delight when I discovered you were still alive?**

"Hah, I knew I had scared you and your craven kin, Almarach Ikmrin," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "The legacy of the Askriit lives on within me, and in your terror of me, and my people would rejoice to see you destroyed along with all your other kin."

**You are not the only legacy of the Askriit,** the Reaper replied. **Do you know why I asked for the honour of slaying you myself? I am your master, as much as any of the Askriit were. Bow down to me, Yamzarat Machtoro, for I am your rightful controller; I wish you dead. Comply.**

"You may be some genetic spawn of my people, but I owe you no fealty," Yamzarat Machtoro growled. "You stain their memory with your existence, and I shall cleanse you myself!"

**You will not listen to reason, little machine?** the Reaper rumbled. **As I had predicted. No matter; you will die upon this planet as you died upon Yorzoch.**

It raised a finger to open fire, and Yamzarat Machtoro did the same; the shield piercing round hit the joint, impacting the armour on the other side, and that god machine was moving once more, stepping over rubble with his great double jointed legs. He loaded his railgun and fired as he went, slamming into the same joint once more, cackling in satisfaction as it hit home.

"Die, spawn of the Almarach Ikmrin!" he roared as he loaded a high explosive round into his railgun. "Die!"

He moved even as the Reaper opened up on his position, a crimson beam scything after him even as the high explosive round slammed into its fingers. For a moment, the impact and the shrapnel it threw up was enough to scramble the Reaper's sensors, the beam cutting short, and another shield round screamed into the damaged weapon arm.

Beam fire screamed from another of the weapon arms, and Yamzarat Machtoro cursed as it glanced off his shields. The power readings they gave off were critical, and he knew his armour would not be capable of standing up to such punishment. He needed to end this quickly, he knew.

He pressed forwards, stomping past buildings as the Reaper's weapons tried to follow him, turning as he walked in order to face the foe. He needed a weak point, he knew, and if this damnable Reaper's underbelly was not it then he had no idea what would be.

He halted when his rear mounted sensors warned he was going to smash into a building, and aimed skywards, towards the Reaper's metallic underside. The Porgramat tipped rounds were loaded again, and he didn't bother to let his targeters take aim for him; the target was too huge to miss.

It sped upwards, ripping past the shields of the Reaper, slamming into it with enough force to crumple the armour. Quickly, he racked another round into the weapon's chamber and fired again at the same spot, even as the Reaper turned, punching through this time. Smoke poured from the wound the god machine had inflicted, and he pressed forwards as the Reaper turned to face him, roaring in bravado.

Another anti-shielding round slammed into its weapon arm, and with a screech of tortured metal it broke free, toppling down into the city below, and Yamzarat Machtoro bellowed in triumph as it landed. He powered forwards, determine now more than ever to get a killing shot in on the wounded machine, even as crimson beam fire speared towards him. It glanced against his shields once more, and then again, overwhelming them, but he ignored them as they winked out, and paid equally as small a heed to the bubbling rent that it tore against his left shoulder. He could still fire his railgun, that was what mattered.

He was not fast, but he was hard to stop, crashing through buildings in his haste, moment, raw strength and his boundless fury carrying him through glass, metal and concrete. He drew to a halt, tearing apart streets as his massive feet tried to stop him, hastily turning and taking aim up at the Reaper before him. He fired, the round ignoring its shields once more, and instead impacting on the delicate innards of the great machine. Flame blossomed from within, and there was a great groaning sound as the Reaper began to topple from the sky.

Yamzarat Machtoro moved, calculating that its trajectory would bring it crashing down atop him, powering through the city in order to escape, roaring orders across the radio for any Geth in the area to do the same. He could see its shadow bearing down above him, and a moment he feared that he would be crushed beneath it, before he broke free of its shadow as it crashed into the ground.

The thing would not die, one of fingers of the massive machine reaching forward to try and grab him. In reply, his cannon roared, blasting against it, and it fell, Yamzarat Machtoro stamping on the offending joint, leaving it a ruin of machinery. He placed the barrel of his railgun against the front of the Reaper's hull, angling it to where it would hit its heart, and loaded a tungsten round. It tore through the machine's armour as if it were paper, and Yamzarat Machtoro chuckled as he stepped away.

"There is only one legacy of the Askriit alive today," he said. "And that is I."

Yamzarat Machtoro turned away from the colossal corpse of his slain foe, and searched for something else to kill.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19-Tunnels

The Alliance forces had reached the Thames and that was, for the moment at least, as far as they were going to go. The Reapers had dug in, using the bridges as chokes points, and with machine guns and anti tank weapons covering every one of them, there was no way the Alliance would simply slaughter their way through. Both forces had resorted to consolidating on their respective side of the river, trading shots and artillery from a distance, neither willing to risk an advance yet; even with reinforcements moving in from the north of the city, the Alliance was unsure they would be able to risk an assault across the river.

Their efforts to consolidate had led them to survivors, frightened individuals huddling in underground train stations, herded there by some of the soldiers who had been sent to aid the city. Garrus and Legion, along with another soldier named Palmers, had led them there once they had joined up with the Alliance forces, and Malleus had been greeted by exhausted, fearful eyes when he had come down the steps into the station.

He had set it up as a base of operations, using its supplies of power and running water, and comparative safety from the surface, as a bunker from which to coordinate the attack; a field hospital had been set up for the wounded, storage rooms were used to hold ammunition and rations. Even from the side room he was currently in, Malleus could hear the groans, screams and whimpers from the wounded, while the civvies talked amongst themselves quietly.

On the console before him, once used to coordinate the mag-lev trains used to enter and leave the station before Kullas had modified it at Malleus' request, the faces of Yamzarat Machtoro, Admiral Anderson and Deniel Suvat were displayed, along with a map of the planet.

"We've taken much of Eastern Asia over the past few hours," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "And we're not stopping there; as I speak, our forces are already moving on the greatest concentration of the enemy. I shall lead the charge and we shall break their backs upon the ruins of Beijing."

"What are your casualties like?" Deniel asked over the link.

"What matter?" Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "The Geth have enough to storm the city and kill all within. That is what's important."

Deniel shook his head.

"General, how are the Hierarchy's forces doing?" Malleus asked.

"We're gaining ground, but it's a slaughterhouse out there," the general replied. "I can't say I'm too happy about the amount of people I'm losing."

"Concern for your men is a fine trait in any senior officer, general," Malleus said. "But only in moderation. If you become too concerned with losses then we'll lose the momentum of the assault, and frankly this is all that's keeping us going."

"If you're sure," Deniel said, though Malleus could detect a hint of uncertainty in the Turian's voice. No matter, so long as he stuck to the plan. "How have you managed in the assault so far, Malleus."

"We've reached the Thames, but they're dug in heavily," Malleus replied. "Not even airstrikes and artillery are able to shift them. Anderson, if you can get your ships down here we can probably level the area with orbital bombardment and advance across; we could use those anti-orbitals they've got in Europe."

"Or perhaps those ones they had in China," Deniel added, looking pointedly at Yamzarat Machtoro. The immense machine simply growled in reply.

"I can try break off some forces from our engagement overhead," Anderson said. "But we're tied up trying to keep them off the Mass Relay; we'd do better once Aria's forces arrive to reinforce us, seeing as we'd have to make a break for Earth anyway."

"How long until they do arrive?" Malleus asked.

"She says she's nearly got all her forces assembled," Anderson said. "I reckon she should be here within the next twenty four hours. And with the Krogan, as well."

"Good," Malleus said. "We need reinforcements. I take it the Council reserves are coming in as well, soon."

"They're still gathering their numbers, apparently, and the politicians back on the colonies and the other worlds are worried about local security now all their soldiers are going," Deniel said.

"The politicians can rot in the dankest pits of the Warp for all I care," Malleus said. "Their worlds can burn; what matters is that the Reapers are defeated, and if I have to call in every soldier and conscript every man and woman of fighting age in the galaxy to make sure that happens, I will."

There was a look of surprise on the faces of all except for Yamzarat Machtoro, who simply chuckled before saying; "Yes! Death to the Almarach Ikmrin, that's what matters."

"Alright," Deniel said slowly. "I suppose if that's what it takes to win this."

"That it is," Malleus said. "Now we need to plan our next moves."

"We're still stuck in New York for the moment, though I've got our forces in the area around it pushing in from their sides," Deniel said. "We might be able to force them out of the city within a few days, especially if we manage to get reinforcements."

"Good," Malleus said. "We'll make our push on the Thames once we have orbital support. General, out of interest, what of local forces there?"

"Out in the smaller towns, they're pretty much untouched," Deniel said. "We've got the help of soldiers sent out to defend them; where we are, New York seems to have been their major target."

"Interesting," Malleus remarked. "Our forces in the countryside north of London were pretty much unopposed until they reached the city, while we've got reinforcements coming in from the North; apparently, the cities up there haven't even been touched yet."

"They always go for the biggest cities," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "Ones that hold cultural significance or are of tactical value; ports, capital cities, perhaps ones with large amounts of manufacturing. They cut the head off a world, shatter its armies and the move out to pick the rest of the planet clean. The Almarach Ikmrin are methodical; they eradicate and exterminate city by city, world by world. It is how they killed my people, and no doubt it is how they will try to kill yours."

"So you think they'll stay in the Sol System?" Malleus asked.

"As long as our army and fleet are here, they shall stay," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "Of that I am certain."

"Well, at least that keeps them tied up," Deniel said. "I think if we can push through Asia and Russia, the Geth and Yamzarat might be-"

"It is Yamzarat _Machtoro_, mortal!" the god machine snapped. "You will address me with my full title."

Deniel twitched his quills, a sign of exasperation, before saying; "Fine. As I was saying, if the Geth and Yamzarat Machtoro can push through Asia, your forces can meet for a combined attack on India or the Middle East. If the Asari and the Drell are able to push through Washington, and the North, we can do the same and strike out at the rest of the forces in the Americas."

"A wise plan, general, but ground superiority will only get us so far," Malleus said. "If we can capture those guns, we can reverse engineer them and arm our fleet; we have the numbers, and if we combine that with the firepower to back them up, the Reapers won't stand a chance."

"Reverse engineer them? Won't that take a while?" Suvat asked.

"Kullas is extremely good at what he does," Malleus replied. "We subcontract out to various arms dealers and build those weapons quickly once we get them, and once we have those the war is ours."

"A wise plan," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "I approve."

"Good," Malleus said. "Anything else that you wish to discuss?"

"Nay. Bloodshed and death call, and I have ignored its summons for this meet long enough," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled.

"Nothing else from me, no," Deniel said.

"Nor me," Anderson added.

"Very well then," Malleus said. "Until we meet again. Ave Imperator."

He stepped into away from the console on which he had talked, and into the rest of the station.

It was a dismal sight, the stench of frightened humanity acidic as that of urine to his enhanced smell, while the overhead lights of the tiled tunnels flickered occasionally. He was told this place was hundreds of years old, built in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and it felt it; there was the feel of hundreds of millions of people having been here in the past, hurrying up and down its moving stairs, going back and forth again and again along well trod corridors and tunnels. It reminded him of home.

He knew that he should probably go up to the surface, see the situation first hand, but part of him, nostalgic for a planet he could never return to, bid him to go deeper. The soldiers that he passed saluted, and he returned the gesture as he headed downwards, to the platform of the station.

A refugee camp had been set up on the platform, in the storage rooms and on the rails, home to nearly a thousand people, so far the largest body of survivors found. The Reapers killed with monstrous efficiency, he thought, to have managed to leave only a few thousand survivors from a city of twelve million. Not that the Alliance had found them all yet, but even so it was a sobering thought.

The people within, tired and frightened men, women and children, looked up as he stepped onto the platform, and hope entered their eyes as they saw him. He knew what they were already calling him, in quiet whispers behind his back, Malleus the Angel. It was strange thing, he reflected, that people who had bought up well away from the propaganda of the Imperium saw Astartes as a symbol of hope. But whatever raised their spirits and salved their fears, that was what mattered.

He nodded to them in greeting, smiling softly, before walking along the rest of the platform. There were a few soldiers down here, who saluted him as he walked past, and he stopped as he noticed Samara. She had a child cradled in her arms, a young girl, perhaps five, asleep on her shoulder.

"Who is that?" Malleus asked as he approached.

"Her name is Sarah," the Justicar replied, voice soft as it always was. She had been cut, Malleus noted, a few scratches born in combat, and a deeper gash along her forehead, purple against her blue skin. "She lost her parents."

"It is always the case, with wars," Malleus said.

"And this is one like no other," Samara remarked.

"Hah!" Malleus barked. "Try telling me that. Believe me, a war on one planet in one system is nothing compared to the battle I've fought in. Did I ever tell you of the Thirteenth Black Crusade? That was a war waged across a dozen systems upon more worlds than I care to count. Billions of soldiers, hundreds of ships, even a few thousand Astartes; that was a war like no other."

"Our ships number in the thousands," Samara pointed out, smiling softly.

"And not one of them is larger than one of our smallest frigates; one small battlefleet could tear them to shreds, and the Reapers to boot," Malleus replied. "This galaxy is soft. It's grown fat and indolent upon a diet of peace, and the Reapers are punishing it for that. I intend to wean it, and swiftly."

"You sound like you'd like your Imperium to come here, you know," Samara said.

"You wouldn't be far wrong," Malleus said. "I miss it. I miss Polyphemus, I miss my battle company, I miss my chapter."

"It sounds like a some sort of dystopian Hell to me," Samara said. She set the child, Sarah, down on a bench with gentle care, stroking her brown hair back so it did not cover her face.

"That dystopian Hell, as you so eloquently put it, is also my home," Malleus replied. "I feel lost here."

"The Goddess has a place for all," Samara replied. "I'm sure you just need to find yours."

"I wander if the one she plans for me is the same as the one the Emperor intends," Malleus replied.

"Who knows?" Samara said.

Malleus shook his head, before saying; "It was good talking to you, Justicar. There are other things I must see to."

"Farewell, Malleus."

The Brother Captain found Kullas at the northern end of one of the train tunnels. It had been collapsed by explosives when the soldiers of the SAS and their quarry had first come in, to allow only one point of entry for the station, and Kullas was staring at the rubble with contemplative expression on the organic side of his face.

"A credit for your thoughts, brother?" Malleus asked as he approached.

"I am cogitating, Brother Captain, whether it would be possible for us to clear this rubble and use this tunnel to advance underneath the river and into enemy territory," Kullas replied. "Perhaps, if I could get the trains running once more, we could use them to ferry supplies and troops across the city."

"A wise plan," Malleus replied. "Though we'd have to guard every station."

"And what of it?" Kullas asked. "These places are built like bunkers, though I know not whether the architects ever intended that; even if one were lost they could be collapsed atop the enemy's heads and still allow trains to pass through."

"That would work rather well," Malleus said.

"This place is reminiscent of Polyphemus, do you not think?" Kullas asked suddenly. "I hypothesise this is because of is subterranean nature, but it is true, do you not think?"

"Aye," Malleus said. "Could use some of our Imperial tech here as well. Do you think you might ever be able to make some?"

Kullas shook his head.

"I am a Forge Priest of the Sons of Thunder, not a worker of techno-miracles," he replied. "I can work this mass effect technology well enough, but until I have a plasma forge and adamantium I am restricted."

"It wasn't as if I were asking for a production line of lasrifles," Malleus replied. "Just, I don't know, auspices or servo-skulls instead of the VIs these people are so fond of."

"A production line of lasrifles," Kullas murmured, frowning. "Why in the Omnissah's name did I not think of such a thing before now?"

"What?"

"We are talking of las technology, Brother Captain," Kullas replied. "It is remarkably easy to replicate; I suppose I could create a power source from the mass effect technology that should work well enough. It would be an affront to the Divine Template, but considering the state of this galaxy that would be just one more to place atop the pile."

"Do you think you can do that, then?" Malleus asked.

"Given time and the right materials, yes," Kullas said. "Of course, all we would then need to do is scale it up for turbolasers and lance batteries. Depends whether we win Europe or not first."

"Who told you of that plan?"

"I was listening in. Should I not have?"

Malleus shrugged.

"I trust you, Kullas," he said. "We are both sons of Vulkan, after all."

Kullas nodded.

"Gold may flow thick when molten, but blood is thicker still," he said. "I will stand by you to the end, Brother Captain."

Malleus smiled.

"I needed no assurance of that, my friend."

One of the pincers on Kullas' servo harness twitched as its visual sensor picked something up behind them, and Forge Priest and Brother Captain turned as one. The tunnels behind them were fairly busy, but a young woman with a portable pict recorder over one shoulder was looking at them, one eye to the lense of her device.

"May we help you?" Kullas asked, but Malleus strode forwards before asking; "Would you care to tell me, Emily Wong, exactly what you are doing here?"

Malleus towered over her, yet to her credit Emily held her ground, before saying; "Getting the story."

"I thought I instructed you remembrancers to say behind and await official reports," Malleus replied.

"You don't win Pulitzers repeating what the official reports already say," Emily answered, and Malleus smiled at this.

"Well, you have a spine, I'll give you that," he said. "I still have my concerns about you being here, though."

"Why's that? I helped report on the Skyllian Blitz, and the Batarians were taking pot shots at anyone who came near, civvy, soldier or journalist," she replied. "I can look after myself, if that's what worries you."

"It is that device you carry upon your shoulder, actually," Malleus said. "What have you sent back to the rest of the galaxy?"

"Nothing yet," Emily said, slightly suspicious.

"Good," Malleus said. "Keep your footage for your prize for after this war, if you would be so good, Miss Wong, we don't need morale back home more undermined than it already is. Though I suppose I could have a use for you."

"And what would that be?"

"Your camera," Malleus said. "I realise that I've got a unique opportunity with you here, Miss Wong."

"Ahuh?"

"Indeed. You will broadcast what I ask to you from Earth to the rest of the galaxy," Malleus said. "You're going to be my main propaganda tool, Miss Wong, someone who reports our victories and successes in the fields and keeps the resolve of the galaxy strong."

"So I'm going to be a propaganda tool?" Emily asked. "No way."

"Miss Wong, the alternative is that I smash that camera and shoot you for undermining the war effort," Malleus said. "The morale of a people is as much a weapon as any rifle or tank, Emily, and I intend to keep the edge of this weapon as sharp as I possibly can."

"Still sounds like propaganda to me."

"Call it propaganda if you will. Do you know what I call it?"

"What?"

"The weaponisation of the free press."


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20-Vox Scandarum

The news was always running in Eternity Bar now.

It killed the atmosphere there, filled it with a sombre and morose air, but it was all Athyta's customers were asking for now. And the war was all it covered. It was near-constant now, other items given some snippet for a few minutes, but soon enough it rolled back to the war.

Spacer crews came in, ordered some drinks, sat down and they watched. They watched as reports came in from the Alliance or the Asari or the Turians, watched as experts came in to talk on the subject, watched as battered and traumatised young men and women, casualties from the war on the surface, were interviewed, watched as religious fanatics proclaimed that this was judgement from one god or another for their sinful ways. Eternity had never been busier in her two hundred years of business, and while the drinks were flowing to ease the worry, Aethyta had a feeling that all the alcohol on Ilium wasn't going to drown the sorrows birthed from an ensuing apocalypse; she had realised not long into all of this that the best business had ever had was also leaving her feeling depressed.

She'd lived through wars before, when half of the media seemed to be convinced that the Krogan were going to roll over the entire galaxy during the Rebellions, and during the First Contact war, when it seemed that the Turians were all that were keeping an army of aggressive savages from assaulting the galaxy as a whole. She'd been sceptical about the threat they had actually posed; her father was a Krogan and, brash, aggressive and loud as he'd been, she never found Krogan imposing, and the humans seemed to be only one small civilisation during the First Contact War before their Second Fleet had arrived to attack the Turians over Shanxi; but this was different. These things, these Reapers, they seemed something else entirely, something monstrous and unstoppable. She had lost sleep worrying about them already.

"We lost hundreds of ships in just a couple of hours," a young Turian on the holo-screen, arm in a sling, was saying. "A lot of my friends killed by dreads you wouldn't believe the size of. They cut through shields and armour in a second and sliced ships in half like the armour wasn't even there; we needed a dozen ships just to take one of them down."

"Yet you would still go back there?" the interviewer asked.

"Hell yeah, I would," the Turian replied.

"Why?"

"Because I'm needed down there, that's why. Those Reaper bastards killed a lot of people, and I want to make them pay. I'm hurt, yeah, but it's like what Malleus said to us before we went into our first battle; 'Only in death does duty end. And I'm still alive.'"

"Ah yes, Malleus Scandarum. I've talked to a lot of soldiers, and a lot of them seem to believe that he will win this war. Why do you think that?"

"You haven't seen him," the Turian replied. There was something in his eyes when he said that, Aethyta noticed. Belief. "That's all I'll say. If you ever see him fight, you'd know he's what'll win this for us."

"Of course. Thank you."

"No problem."

"We're going back to the studio now for…what? Apparently we're not going back to the studio after all. We're receiving a live broadcast from Earth, from non other than Malleus Scandarum, commander of Alliance forces on the ground."

Aethyta had seen the Astartes on the holo-vision before, when he had come to the Council meeting, and there had been something awe-inspiring about the immense man when she had seen him then. Conversation suddenly hushed as every eye in the bar turned to watch the screen, Asari, Turians, humans, Krogran, even a Drell all watching. Against a background of cracked tiles, his armour shining in white and gold, shoulders broadened yet further by a blood-crimson cloak trimmed in grey fur, he looked even more impressive than before. He looked like a warrior, a leader. He looked like a king.

After a moment, he began to speak.

#

The image of the angel in white and gold appeared on every news channel at once, while many others interrupted their programming to show it. Across the entire galaxy, holo-visions showed the picture of a giant in armour, his scarred, craggy face. Billions of screens, watched by billions of eyes, showed Malleus Scandarum in all his glory as an Astartes. Even on Earth, comm. links went quiet to hear the words that were to be spoken by the great warrior in their midst, soldiers all over the planet of every species listening in.

"Greetings, citizens of the galaxy."

#

One camera, Malleus realised, held on the shoulder of a young woman with ambition, was as deadly a weapon as any bolter. As he faced the lense, reflected light shining a corona around its edge, he reflected that there may well be a power in such a thing that had not realised before.

"I speak to you now in a grim hour. In the last forty eight hours, many of you will have, no doubt, heard of the Reapers descending upon Earth in the intent of slaying all who live upon it. Already, millions lie dead upon its surface, while upon its surface and in orbit our warriors do battle with the foe," he said.

Behind him, on the communications screen, he could see his image being beamed away from Earth to the galaxy as a whole. He liked the cloak, he would admit; scavenged from some theatre that the Alliance had captured, it added a heroic, feudal look to his power armour.

"But fear not," he continued. "For on our side we have the greatest army and fleet gathered in our collective history. Thousands of ships, billions of soldiers, all united in the express purpose of defending our homes and driving these Reapers back whence they came.

"We are peoples with a varied and patchworked history, and we are no strangers to war, but this is not one for profit, power, or ideology. No, this war is for our very survival. The rules of engagement have changed; we will fight to the last, and only when our last breath is expelled, only when we die plunging a knife into the throat of our foe shall we be defeated.

"But this shall not be so," Malleus said. "Because you have the Astartes with you. Some have called us abominations, murderers, monsters even, and do you know what I say? I say this is true. But we are _your_ monsters. We are monsters who will give everything to defeat these machines, who will stop at nothing to ensure victory. We will hurl ourselves into their jaws to tear out their throats; we will slit our own throats if it means we choke them with our blood. We are Astartes, and this is what we were made for. Nothing shall sway us from our cause, nothing will stop us, nothing will end us. We are the vessels of their annihilation, the bringers of their end, angels of righteous wrath that shall reduce them to ashes with the lightning of our fury. We will stand alongside you in the days ahead, and will fight and die for you. All that we know and all that we are will be dedicated to your survival. We are the Emperor's chosen, his greatest, most glorious, deadliest warriors, the most dangerous things in all existence. The soldiers with us are the bravest men and women I have ever fought alongside, and I swear to you that we will drive these Reapers back and slay them all, even if we must bleed ourselves dry to do so."

He dropped his head slightly, before saying.

"But we cannot do this alone."

Once again, his piercing hazel eyes looked into the camera, before he spoke.

"Out on the field, our soldiers die, slain by a foe who would see all that they love, all that _you_ love, perish. They believe us fearful, so bound in arrogance that they are blinded to the truth; the truth that there is courage in our hearts and fury in our veins. Should you have but a scrap of bravery, then I ask this; will you not fight? Will you not stand in your place upon the battlefield and defy this foe that would see us all destroyed? Will you not aid your brothers and sisters in arms in defying this abomination that crawls from its pit beyond the stars? If you will, then I tell you, now is your time. Go to your nearest recruiting station, sign up and fight for all that is good and true within this galaxy. Stand shoulder to shoulder against the darkness, and by the Emperor, we shall drive it back.

"I shall be honest with you all when I say that the following days shall not be easy. We fight a total war against a foe that will not give up until every one of their number has been destroyed, and their own intent is for our very extinction. We fight to survive, and believe me when I say that we will not fight fairly; we will show no mercy and we shall take no prisoners, and this shall be the case both off the battlefield as well as on it. I will not lie to you, my friends; should this war go on then conscription and rationing could become vey real possibilities, and for some, the cure for the blight these Reapers have become on the galaxy shall be a bitter medicine to swallow, but all this shall be done in the name of victory. All this shall be done in order to ensure our survival, and by the Emperor, I promise you we _will_ emerge victorious.

"All I ask in return is that you stand firm in your opposition of the Reapers, that you cooperate with our soldiers and that you understand that whatever hardships or discomforts you must bear, you bear in the name of survival.

"Imperator Vult, my friends. May the Emperor watch over us all in the days to come."

#

The holo screen in Eternity bar went blank, save for the image of a double headed eagle upon a black background, and the entire room was silent. It was a long, intensely thoughtful quiet, and for a moment Aethyta swore that she could have heard a pin drop in the silence.

Then a few of her customers, two humans and a Turian, got up and left, slamming a few credits down on the surface of their tables to pay for their drinks before hurrying out as one. There was a purposeful edge to their stride, a look of determination, anger, on their faces. A few moments later, a Krogan mercenary followed, broad, calloused fingers straying to battered shotgun folded at his belt. Then an Asari. One by one, Aethyta's customers left, and swiftly it was empty except for her and her bouncer.

"Well, looks like he's successfully cleaned me out of business," she said, nodding towards the screen. "C'mon John, help me get up the chairs up on the table, will you? Don't think anyone else is going to be coming in today."

John nodded, before picking up a couple of chairs and sliding them across the table. Quickly, the bar was cleared, locked up and she sent out a message to the rest of her stuff telling them they could have a day off. Somehow, she didn't feel like serving drinks.

She pulled the shutters over the door down, switched the holos off and then noticed John was standing with a slightly restless edge to his stance.

"You alright, John?"

"Yeah, I'm cool."

There was a silence, before she said; "You want to go fight, don't you?"

"Well…yeah. I don't know, you put me up with a job and all, and you need security. I don't just wanna head off like that."

Aethyta sighed, before shaking her head slightly and saying; "Go on John. Go sign up. By the sounds of it, we're all going to be doing it anyway."

John smiled slightly awkwardly, before saying; "Thanks."

He hurried away down the street, towards one of the recruiting stations that had been set up within the last day.

Aethyta shook her head and set off towards her own home. Her father's old rifle, antiquated as it was, was still in a box tucked away, given to her after his death. She had kept it clean, though it was probably dusty, and had been meaning to give it to John once he decided he'd had enough experience working as a bouncer to join one of the private security companies or the Alliance military. But he'd already gone to join up. It seemed that the only person who would find a use for the old thing would be her.

She'd just have to remember the pay the rent forwards before she left.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21-Duty

Open fist. Burst of flame. Observe. Close fist. Crackle of lightning, observe.

There was something wrong with him, that much Cyralius knew. Something scraping against his nerves whenever he used his power, like something breaking through. The idea concerned him more than a little, but there was something strange about it. He knew the feelings of attempted daemonic possession or psychic probing, having battled chaotic and xenos psykers on many occasions in his time in the Imperium, and this was different. That was external, something trying to break down his mental barriers, but this was something else entirely; it wasn't trying to break in, it was trying to break out. And he had no idea what it could be.

A faint, barely visible sheen of blue lingered on his hand a moment after a burst of telekinetic force caused the dust at his feet to circle in a miniature squall before settling once more, and he peered at it intensely before it faded.

"What're you doing, Cyril?"

"Hello Jack," Cyralius replied without looking up, as the biotic sat down next to him on the ruined wall the Epistolary was using as a seat. "Just looking at something, that's all."

"You still got something wrong with your powers, then?" Jack asked.

Cyralius nodded.

"I don't know what," he said. Absently mindedly, he picked up a brick and tossed it away, watching his hands once more. The blue glow was so faint as to almost be invisible in the dust and smoke-filtered sunlight shining on London, but it was quite definitely there. "But there is definitely something amiss."

"Should I be worried, then?"

"Leave that to me. And besides, right now I'm more intrigued."

Jack snorted with sudden laughter.

"What?"

"Cyril, your head could explode or something, and all you can say is that you're curious about it. I really don't get you."

Cyralius shrugged.

"I was a codicier once. It was my job to archive and record information that came to the Sons. Spending nearly a century doing that gives you some habits that are really hard to break."

"So wait, you're saying that there are other Astartes like you in the Sons?"

"Indeed there are."

"Goddamn."

Cyralius shook his head.

"Oh what now?"

"Just trying to picture a whole bunch of Astartes like you," Jack replied, smiling slightly. "Just can't. All I can think of is them being all dour like Malleus or something."

"Well I suppose the brothers of the Librarium can hardly be said to fit the usual template of a marine," Cyralius said, shrugging slightly. "I'm surprised you haven't guessed that by now."

Jack laughed quietly, before placing her hand on Cyralius' gauntlet. The Epistolary glanced down at it in surprise at the slender tattooed wrist and hand, pocked with a few old needle scars, as it rested atop his own.

"I'm glad you're different, Cyril," she said quietly.

She leant on his power armoured shoulder, Cyralius placing his hand on her own shoulder in as gentle an embrace as his superhuman strength would allow him. There was a long, quiet moment, biotic and psyker simply sitting in each other's company, and it was then that Cyralius made himself a silent oath that, however this war turned out, whatever happened, he would allow no harm to come to Jack.

#

Okeen's fingers moved with skilful deftness as he stitched the wound shut, needle and thread drawing the gash in the skin closed. A compress and bandage were tied over the deep slash in the arm in order to stem any later bleeding, and Okeen nodded to the nurse with him to wheel the young woman he was operating on out.

He pressed a button on the desk next to him to call in the next patient, pulling on a fresh pair of rubber gloves as an unconscious young man was wheeled in on a gurney, a bloodied bandage pressed against his neck.

"Status?"

"A wound in the neck, and difficulty breathing," the orderly pushing the cart replied. "His squad medic managed to stabilise him with medigel, but there's still bleeding."

"Understood."

He set to work, removing the bandage, spraying a clotting agent on the wound, using an artificial cartilage to rebuild the damaged windpipe; he would talk again, but never sing, but that was good enough for Okeen. What mattered was that he was alive. Within a few minutes of swift, dextrous surgery, he was sent away, and the next casualty was called in. A young woman who'd lost her arm, a boy who's guts had been ripped open by some high calibre round and who was bleeding internally, another young man who'd had a lung punctured, a shattered arm and punctured vein. Some were wheeled out of the rudimentary surgery the Alliance medics had set up underground, unconscious but alive, and a few of the lucky, resilient ones even walked or limped away, but there were many who did neither, Okeen unable to save them and instead administering the Emperor's Mercy with a short prayer. The wounded came to Okeen in a seemingly endless succession of injuries and pain, and he treated them all as best he could, an air of unflappable calm about him as he did so. The work dragged on, minutes stretching into hours, and still the succession of the injured and dying continued to pour in. Okeen worked as fast as he could, always thorough as possible and never hasty in his work; any who could be saved he would save, however difficult the task. He knew the oath of the Apothecarium, to sustain the life of the faithful and innocent under his care as long as he possibly could, and while these people were heretics, the point remained; lives could be preserved, and it was his duty as an Apothecary to do so. He would not flinch from it.

They poured in from the fighting at the banks of the Thames, victims to the machine guns, artillery and snipers the Reapers had at their disposal, even as Alliance forces tried to dig in. Word had filtered down that the grand assault was beginning tomorrow with the arrival of reinforcements, and while Okeen had heard nothing from Malleus yet, the brother captain still occupied with trying to organise the retaking of the city, but if that was the case then he was going to have a lot more work to do.

It was of little matter. He was an Apothecary of the Sons of Thunder, and it was his duty to treat the wounded. He would not shirk it.

#

"Will you turn that crap down?" Tali grumbled as she slid from underneath the Mako. "I'm trying to work here, you know."

"Crap? Crap?" Andrew replied from his place by the radio. "This is Miracle of Sound. They're great." 

There was a quiet as Tali glared at him beneath her mask, before she replied; "No, no they're not. Put something good on, why don't you?"

"Oh, piss off," Andrew replied, picking up a soldering tool and walking back to the Somme he was in the middle of repairing.

"Grease monkey!" Tali shot at him, to which Andrew cheerfully gave her the finger.

The Quarian chuckled and shook her head, before the sound of Miracle's latest hit suddenly dimmed and faded away. Andy stuck his head out from next to the damaged track unit he was playing and called; "C'mon Tali, you might not be their biggest fan, but you don't need to be a bitch about it." 

"I wasn't," Tali replied from underneath the tank.

"I found the dirge that you designated as music offensive to my primary audio receptors," Kullas called from the rear of their workshop. "I deemed it necessary to silence it."

Andrew looked at the Forge Priest, the Astartes holding a sixty-ton tank tipped back near vertical with his servo harness in order to fix a rent scored into its hull by a landmine, and decided not to complain. Tali just laughed quietly and went back to fixing the suspension on the Mako.

The Alliance had set up a motor pool a few miles away from the frontline in an old fire station that happened to be, by some stroke of luck, next to a garage. They had enough space to store most of their damaged vehicles within, while a kinetic barrier provided adequate protection from the artillery fire that was sporadically thumping against it. It was busy, a few hundred technicians working within the two buildings trying to repair the constant stream of damaged vehicles that flowed into the workshop. Tali had made herself useful there, her skill with tech letting her fit in with the other engineers present, but Kullas was a different matter.

So far, those in the Alliance's motor pool had accepted the Forge Priest's presence with a mixture of fear and outright awe; anyone who could lift a tank up using only their raw strength and fix it in a matter of minutes was immediately entitled to some respect, but he had spent only a few hours there and had already convinced the engineers working in it that he was quite mad.

"Alright, I'm taking a break," Andy announced, having finally closed the rent in the hull of his charge close. "You coming, Tali?"

"Just a minute," the Quarian replied as she hooked a feed of pneumatic fluid into the pistons beneath her own vehicle's hull. She wheeled herself out from under it, and sat up, stretching her arms slightly.

She followed Andrew outside, where he already had a cup of coffee in his hand, stirring some of the Alliance's standard issues hyper-pasteurised dehydrated milk into it. Tali just took a shot of purified, sanitised caffeine paste that had natural ingredients promised on the label and injected it into the solid foods port of her enviro-suit. It was bitter and gritty, but she chewed and swallowed nonetheless.

"'Offensive to my primary audio receptors,'" Andy said as she sat down, shaking his head. "I still can't believe your friend just said that."

"Kullas can be a little strange, yeah," Tali agreed.

"A little?" Andrew asked. "It's like he's got Aspergers or something, the way he acts. He's an absolute mentalist, he is."

"No he's not," Tali said. "He's just not used to people, that's all."

"Yeah, maybe, but I still don't get this machine spirit thing he was talking about earlier," Andrew said. "That's a load of crap, definitely."

"No it's not," Tali said, flexing her augmetic. "I've seen them."

"What?" Andrew said. "You're involved in his weird little religion thing? Seriously?"

"Yes, and don't give me that look," Tali said. "If I was going to haul off and hit you with a spanner for technoheresy I would've done so already."

There was a slightly awkward, wary silence, before Tali shook her head and sighed.

"Fine, be like that," she said. "He's not crazy, though. Nor is the Mechanicum. Believe me, Andrew, I've seen the machine spirits he talks about. Not just in some vague religious nutjob way, either. I've linked in with machines, using my augmetic, I've seen the machine spirits first hand. Nearly killed me at one point, but I saw them alright. I don't know if they're proper souls or, I don't know, quantum interactions on circuit boards or something like that, but I definitely saw something there."

"So what's sticking yourself full of robot parts got to do with machine spirits then?" Andrew asked after a moment.

"I…I don't honestly know," Tali said. "They're still a bit strange in some respects, yeah."

"A bit," Andrew muttered. "I still don't get it, but whatever. Just keep spanners away from me, alright?" 

Tali chuckled quietly, before glancing over to the Mako. The feeding machine was finished, a blinking green light confirming that its suspension had been filled with the hydraulic fluid.

"I've got to go," she said. "More work to do, it seems."

"Yeah, I should probably get on," Andrew said.

"Omnissah protects, Andrew," Tali replied as she headed to the vehicle.

Beneath her mask, she couldn't help but smile at the look on his face.

#

There were about two hundred of them in total, Mallues guessed, mainly young men and a few women, packed into one of the station's larger rooms. They parted before him respectfully as he stepped to the front of the room, before he turned to face them all. He recognised one of the faces he'd seen on the battlefield, Michael Hunter, the young man from Bekenstein he'd saved from the Reaper tank what was, on reflection, just earlier today.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're all here," he said. "And the answer is a simple one. All of you are, currently officers without men to lead, whose soldiers were killed in combat or assigned to other units due to losses. Most of you are probably curious as to why the same hasn't happened to you. The answer is simple; I need you." 

He folded his arms behind his back, before continuing.

"There's no doubt about the fact that this war is going to be an extremely bloody one," he said. "And the state of morale amongst our troops will not fare well if it is not treated with care. And that is where you come in."

"We're maintaining morale?" a young woman asked. "That's part of an officer's duty anyway."

"That it is," Malleus said. "But instead of command being your primary role, keeping the fighting spirit of our soldiers up will be the most prevalent part of your duties. You're to serve as political officers, and it will your job to inspire our soldiers to fight through whatever means necessary. You won't be well loved, of that I can assure you, but it will be your job to punish those who flee the field of battle or desert their posts, with death if necessary."

There was a sudden uncomfortable edge to the group before him, looks flitting between the officers before him, a quiet murmuring of discontent rising. Malleus had expected this; the Alliance's military universities would never instil the sort of ruthlessness bred into Commissar cadets at the Schola Progenium, but without the stony hearted killers and ruthless leaders of men that the Schola produced, they would have to do.

"I know a lot of you will be doubtful about whether you will be up to such a duty, or how effective role it will really be, and many of you will be unwilling to execute a person in what you deem cold blood, but believe me when I say that when a soldier fears retreat more than they fear an enemy then they become very effective warriors indeed."

"Your role will be a simple one; you will inspire," Malleus said. "You will inspire through fear and through heroism; you shall be first into the enemy's guns, last out from evacuations zones, ask no quarter and allow no retreat. You will not be loved, but you will be respected, and revered as some of the greatest heroes that the Alliance shall know. If you have any issues with doing this, then you are free to leave now and resume your normal duties, and there will be no stigma attached to your name for doing so, but I firmly believe that it will be the courage of the Commissariat and the bravery it passes to our soldiers that will win us this war."

A few people filed out, but as Malleus hoped, many more remained. Those who knew the meaning of duty. He smiled at them as they stood there, slightly apprehensive.

"I'm pleased that you choose to remain," he said. "Very pleased indeed. Believe me, my friends, in the years to come, history shall sing your praises."

He clapped his gauntlets together, ceramite thunking against ceramite, before he said; "Now, let's see how Alliance issue body armour looks in black and gold, shall we?"


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22-Sons of Tuchanka

The first ships of the relief force exited the Charon Relay and into the middle of battle.

Around them, a flock of thousands of ships surrounded them, weapons blazing against the monolithic vessels that pressed against them. It was eight hundred against three and a half thousand, and despite the numbers tipped in their favour the Alliance were losing, badly.

Beam fire ripped cruisers and frigates asunder, leaving them as ruins of debris, while the void blazed with thousands of mass-driver rounds, slamming against the mighty shields of the Reapers. Occasionally, there was an immense blast of azure flame as the kinetic barriers of one of the goliaths failed and its armour ruptured, before the fires were devoured by the ever-hungry vacuum.

Chaos reigned as ships darted out of the FTL tunnel created by the Relay and straight into firing lanes, crashing into debris before they could erect their kinetic barriers and being torn apart by impacts from massive chunks of metal and Reaper beam fire alike. Lumbering transport craft, packed with troops and materials, were split open like overripe fruit, vomiting their helpless cargoes into the void, soldiers left to scream silently, choke and freeze in the merciless chill of the vacuum.

The OFC Knife Edge arrived in time to hit a tide of flame from an exploding cruiser. Like some terrestrial vessel, it banked up as its pointed prow was hit, fire blackening its hull, before its kinetic barriers flickered into life.

"Damage report, now!" Aria ordered from her place atop the dreadnought's bridge.

"Minor," the reply came up. "Scorching on the hull, a few point-defences knocked out, nothing more."

"Good," the Asari said. "Bring us round to fire on the enemy, and open up a comm. link; get me in touch with Anderson."

A holo-screen image of David Anderson fuzzed upwards in front of her, and the pirate admiral shook her head at him.

"Fine welcome you prepared for us," she said.

"Reapers saw us heading for the relay," Anderson replied. "Not much we could do." He glanced off screen. "Get more power to the engines, move us onto that thing's flank!" Once again, his attention was back on the pirate admiral. "They moved to cut us off, and we had one hell of a time trying to break through."

"Good job then," Aria said as the deck shook beneath her, the main cannons of the Knife Edge opening fire on a Reaper that loomed before it. "They look like some pretty big bastards. I'll get my people together, we'll push them back from the relay, give the transports time to make a break for Earth."

"Good plan," Anderson said. "Get your people organised, and attack those Reapers, we can't afford losses like these much longer."

"Understood," Aria said. "Time to show these Reapers what Terminus Systemers are made of."

Across the void, the pirates of the Terminus system began to form up, flitting up and around the vacuum towards the foe as they formed squadrons and miniature fleets. They were a mixed bunch, uniform only in their individuality, each ship heavily customised by captains and crew.

Some launched swarms of torpedoes at the immense goliaths they faced, the smart munitions screaming noiselessly across the void to crash against kinetic barriers or hulls of dark metal. They drove forwards as a great wedge, aided by the Council and Geth ships, led by the Dreadnoughts and pressing against the enemy in a bid to drive them back from the Relay. From it, the mothballed reserves of the Alliance, the Turians and the Asari emerged with them, getting into formation using much more organised comm. channels, swiftly activating kinetic barriers and weapons and adding to fire of that of their comrades. They joined the slipstream of the wedge, flitting to its fringes as they sent fire blazing across empty space into the Reapers. The return fire ripped ships to pieces, but the wedge continued forwards inexorably, Council, pirate and Geth munitions slamming into Reaper shields with the force to level planets.

The fleet's dreadnoughts led the charge against the heart of the Reaper fleet, the tip of a spear composed of thousands of ships. The Thermopylae and the Knife Edge were at the very front, the squared curves of the Alliance vessel stark contrast to the heavily customised, patchworked pirate craft, each part stolen or bought to make the Knife Edge one of the most unique and deadly ships in space.

Fire glanced off her shields, the Geth-built generators managing to stand firm against beam fire lancing towards it, while its batteries of mass-drivers and torpedoes stolen from ship classes ranging from Batarian frigates to Alliance dreadnoughts blazed into life. Behind it, fire screamed in from more dreadnoughts, the massive ships picking one target at a time and concentrating their ferocious firepower on it until its shields were stripped away and it died.

The Thermopylae was the first into the very edges of the Reaper lines, firing near point-blank into the upper hulls of one of the massive dreadnoughts, before Anderson gave the order and the Krogan ships emerged.

From the heavily armoured and shielded brick-like craft, hundreds of boarding craft leapt out like birds from a nest, spearing towards their prey. Element Zero lined prows slid past kinetic barriers, before drills and augurs span into life, gnawing through thick black hulls. Controlling VIs detected empty air before detonating fragmentation bombs, spraying corridors and decks before them with a storm of razor sharp shrapnel edged with Eezo, slicing through shields and into armour. Armoured doors slid open, and the occupants within rushed free to meet the foe.

The Krogan had been unleashed.

#

Urdnot Wrex, Battlemaster of Clan Urdnot and Grand Warlord of Tuchanka, was first free of his boarding pod, his assault rifle thudding in his hands as he emptied the magazine into the room before him in a spray of indiscriminate fury. Behind him, his Krantt and the most elite warriors of his clan followed, weapons roaring as they opened up.

The small group of Reaper soldiers before them had no chance; already battered and damaged from the boarding pods' frag blasts, they were cut down in moments by the storm of fire that erupted from within.

"Let's move, up to the core," Wrex ordered. "Go!"

The Krogan with him stormed forwards, the bullish clan leader at their head, thundering down the onyx corridors of the Reaper. Enemy soldiers hurried towards, opening fire as they took what cover they could within the stark, bare corridors of the Reaper, but the Krogan ignored such things, simply advancing forwards regardless. Their decentralised nervous systems rendered them almost immune to pain, while most of the enemy rounds glanced off their thick armour, and their weapons blazed as they opened up on the foe. Several stopped to take Reaper weapons, before Wrex ordered the advance once more.

More fire screamed towards him, glancing off his shields, and he raised his weapon to return, rounds thudding free of his weapon. The heavy duty mass-driver bullets punched past the shields of one of the Reaper troops, shattering its visor and knocking it to the ground. Its fellows around it formed up, focusing their fire on the clan leader and forcing him to duck away from it, before a grenade landed in the enemy's midst, cooking off and staggering the enemy squad. 

With a chorus of roared war cries, Urdnot Tenk and his warriors thundered into the midst of the enemy, his shotgun blazing. Wrex charged forwards into the enemy to join the Battlemaster, smashing one of the enemy footsoldiers aside with his sheer mass before gunning it down. A blow from the stock of a Reaper rifle glanced against his jaw before Wrex turned his weapon on his assailant and gunned it down at point blank range.

The foe at the junction cleared, Tenk glanced over to Wrex.

"Where to, Clan Leader?" he asked.

"Up," Wrex replied, gesturing to the stairwell beyond. "To this thing's power core. We kill it and bring the ship down."

Upwards they went, trading fire with the enemy that came down to meet them, rounds zipping along the incline of the stairs from both sides. Another squad of Urdnot's warriors hit the foe from the top of the stairs, the Krogan tying them up enough for Wrex and his clansmen to advance upwards and finish them off.

Through the great ship they fought, advancing along onyx corridors with implacable, unstoppable fury. Hardy as they were, many Krogan were gunned down, but they kept moving, Wrex at their head, his biotics and fearsome martial progress sustaining the momentum of their meteoric charge. Through corridors they fought, trading fire with the Reapers, the bulky forms, redundant nervous systems and natural regenerative abilities of the Krogan making them fearsome foes in the close quarters of the Reaper ships. Many of them already carried stolen weapons, bulky rifles held with ease by strong arms, and they blazed with azure as they fired into the foe, cutting through shields and armour alike.

They reached the core, held in a large, high-ceilinged room more akin to a hangar than a generator room, spinning rings suspended aloft above a needle of some dark blue metal. Below it, a phalanx of the Reaper's soldiers waited, along with one of their walkers, fire screaming from their weapons the moment the Krogan rounded the corner. Several of the bulky Tuchankans were cut down as they entered, the rest of them scattering.

Crimson beams erupted from the weapon arms of Reaper tank, melting away kinetic barriers, armour and flesh in moment, scything down those Krogan too slow to scatter out of its way. Fire roared back at it, small arms rippling against its kinetic barriers, but it was ineffective, the walker invulnerable to their weapons.

Wrex ducked aside as it turned its guns toward him, throwing up a bolt of biotic energy to temporarily stun the machine, before moving away. A small group of Reaper solders were before him, their weapons blazing as they opened up on the clan leader, but he simply shrugged it off, throwing up a biotic barrier as he advanced, his rifle picking targets and gunning them down as he advanced.

He dodged to the left as one of the soldiers hefted some sort of heavy weapon, firing off a beam of incandescent crimson towards him. He hit it with a bolt biotic energy, a warp field that mangled its shields and ripped apart its armour, before barrelling into the last two foes. One he finished off with a point blank shot to the head, and a blow from the stock of his rifle knocked the last one to the ground; a stamp from his large, two-toed feet finished it, crushing its metal skull.

He picked up the beam weapon that had nearly finished him, and turned it towards the walker, crimson lances still scything through them despite the fire roaring into its shields. He hefted it into his broad shoulder, took aim, and fired.

The shot overwhelmed its kinetic barriers, impact enough to stagger the machine, and managed to stumbled in his direction despite the fire glancing off its form. Steam vented from the barrel of Wrex's weapon as he pulled the trigger once more, but nothing happened, too hot to fire.

He cursed as the walker raised its weapons, the vehicle swaying slightly as blast from a missile launcher glanced against its flank. It was enough to throw its aim, the beams instead gouging a steaming, molten rent into the floor next to Wrex, before the weapon in his hand finally cooled enough for him to fire.

It melted the front armour of the walker, metal turning liquid, frying circuitry and wiring within, before hitting the mass effect generator at its heart. An explosion of blue flame punched outwards from the dark armour of the machine as it detonated, before it tottered to one side and fell.

Wrex tossed the beam weapon to one side, before calling; "Someone plant charges on that generator, then we're getting out of here." 

He flicked his comm. bead on, and said; "David, it's Wrex here. What's the situation?"

"They're pulling back," Anderson replied from the bridge of the Thermopylae. "We've got them running."

"You're serious?"

"I am. They're on the run."

Wrex laughed aloud at this, before saying; "Good work, David. You pursuing?"

"We're harrying them, but they're fast," the Admiral replied. "We're keeping a rearguard up, but we're heading for Earth, we're going to drop those reinforcements. Get to your ships and join up with the other transports."

"Understood," Wrex said. "Urdnot, get back to the boarding pods. We're headed to Earth!"

This was greeted by a cheer, and they left as the charges on the Reaper's core cooked off. The spinning rings clattered to the ground, the blue glow of the mass effect field they held fading to nothing, the Reaper swiftly dying as the Krogan returned to their pods.

In the vacuum around the massive vessel, Council, Geth, pirate and Krogan ships moved past it, pounding the retreating Reaper fleet from afar as the warriors of Tuchanka returned to their ships. Swiftly, the fleet got into a new formation, an escort for the transports that carried their reinforcements to Earth, heading away from the Charon relay and leaving the Reapers to flee.

And in the chaos of the battle, nobody had noticed the small squadron of Reapers slipping through the onyx immensity of the Charon Relay.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23-To Glory

Fire rained upon London as the Alliance began their orbital bombardment.

Streets were reduced to rubble by blasts from mass drivers, emplacements for artillery and flak defences smashed to pieces. Buildings were toppled, the elegant skywalks that extended between them split apart. Heavily dug in firing positions were cracked open, their occupants annihilated in a storm of flame and shrapnel, bunkers shattered and left as smoking ruins. The shields of walkers were overwhelmed in moments and their armoured shells proved to be of no aid against the fury of the Alliance's big guns.

Within minutes, as the soldiers deployed, the southern half of London looked like it had been hit by a hurricane, an undulating sea of rubble broken by a the gutted shells of the surviving buildings, rearing from it like shattered teeth from diseased gums.

Behind the front lines hovered the transport craft, the massive rotund vessels disgorging flight after flight of shuttles. Some carried reinforcements down, other supplies, yet more vehicles. The wounded were loaded aboard, carried up to med-bays, while soldiers were bussed onto Makos, and driven to firing points. Kit bags were dropped off, before webbing was slung on over body armour and they were sent straight to the front lines, ready to fight.

"Now _that_ is power," Malleus said from the cupola of his tank. Hullen had sprayed an Aquila onto the front of the vehicle, and a few purity seals had been stuck to its hull, the parchment fluttering in the breeze created by the apocalyptic magnitude of the bombardment. "You getting this, Miss Wong? This is what we need for a good boost of morale; the might of the Alliance, unleashed upon the Reapers first hand."

"I'm getting it," Emily replied, her camera upon her shoulder as she peered down the lense. "It's an impressive shot, I'll say that."

"Good," Malleus said. "Well, the reinforcements have arrived, they're all in position and we've successfully bombarded. Get back to the station, you'll be safest there, unless you'd rather follow me into a warzone."

He turned his attention to the vox, and asked: "Titus, are you ready?"

"We're all ready," came the reply across the vox. "Lifting off now."

"Good. Kurias?"

"Alliance Air Force prepped and ready to fly," Kurias replied.

"Cyralius?"

"We're clearing rubble, but we'll be up in time."

"Excellent. All Alliance forces, this is Malleus Scandarum. We're moving out. Imperator vult!"

#

The VTOL engines of the troop carrier screamed as they swivelled towards the ground, lifting it upwards into the air with hawk-like grace. Titus glanced around at the small fleet of aircraft with it, banner in one hand, the other holding the overhead rail as he leant out to look. Mag clamped to his belt were his shotgun and his bolter, while Urz lay at his feet next to him, the Varren growling slightly at the unnatural sensation of flight.

They rose about a hundred metres into the air before the aircraft dipped their noses and began to move forwards, buildings sweeping by them as they flew between the structures.

Titus paused as heard music over the speakers, something with guitar and piano, and he stepped away from the edge of the craft's doors, letting the watching be done by the two soldiers on the automatic grenade launchers on each side of it instead, and stepped to the cockpit.

"Pilot," he said to the man guiding the craft forwards. "Mind telling me what this music is?"

"Sympathy for the Devil, Rolling Stones," the pilot replied without looking up. "Old family tradition to play it since we flew choppers back in 'Nam."

"'Nam?"

"Vietnam War, back in the 1970s," the pilot replied. "Our family's been in the US army, then the Alliance, flying helicopters or veetols since then. Bosnia, Afghanistan, China, Second Civil War, Shanxi, we've been in all of 'em. Apparently, my great, great…" He paused for a moment to count on his fingers. "Great, great, great, great grandpa played this song whenever he flew it into a fight. Said it bought him luck."

"And did it?"

"Hell, he flew more than a hundred missions and came back without a scratch," the pilot replied without a grin. "Mighta been the song, might not have been, but it's worked so far for me too."

Titus chuckled at this.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Richard Karawitz," the pilot replied with a grin. "Corporal, and best damn veetol pilot the Alliance has. Got myself a Star of Terra during the Blitz; got fifty men out under heavy fire all by myself."

"Glad I'm in good hands then," Titus said as the helicopter crossed the river, clapping Richard on the shoulder. "Keep listening to that song of yours, a little luck could go a long way."

He stepped back into the main body of the craft in time to catch a glimpse of the river. On the bridges, he could see the tanks and infantry moving across the stretch of dust-choked, scum-topped water, cannons, rifles and heavy weapons daring any enemy to raise their heads. There was a whooshing scream, and Titus glanced upwards to see a squadron of Alliance jet fighters swoop overhead, watching for any aerial threat to present itself. There were fires nested in ruins of the southern half of the city, columns of smoke rising into the dust-darkened sky, and even from this height the stink of scorched metal and glass was pervading the air.

The VTOL craft began to lower, dropping down onto the rubble-strewn streets, before they touched down. Titus was first out, leaping from the craft, the other soldiers within following, while around him other soldiers did the same.

The VTOLs were about to lift off, when rounds zipped into the Alliance position. Yells of alarm and barked orders went up, and there was a rapid thudding as the chainguns and grenade launchers on the aircraft opened up on the enemy position, stitching bullet holes and explosions across the walls of ruined buildings as the craft headed upwards.

Soldiers were cut down as they dashed for cover, and Titus grimaced as he saw a beam of crimson strike the craft he had been flying in. It tried to rise as smoke poured from the hole rent into its chassis, before it veered away into a building, a tangled mess of metal and flame. So much for luck.

"Move forwards!" Titus ordered, drawing his shotgun. "Two Platoon, flank round to their left, get them pinned. One Platoon, Three platoon, with me; we're advancing! No falling back!"

Two Platoon was led off by barked orders from one of the greatcoated Alliance commissars that had flown in on one of the other VTOLS, and Titus nodded to the man as they hurried round to the left. Alliance soldiers ducked to cover, behind fallen walls and piles of rubble, returning fire against the already dug in foe.

"Get smoke out," Titus ordered, snapping of a few shots with his Claymore one handed, the shotgun roaring as it fired. "Up close and personal, that's how we'll beat the scum!"

Canisters bounced to the front of the buildings before thick white smoke poured out. As the smokescreen rose, Titus gave the order: "Charge! Clear us a safe landing!"

The soldiers began to run, Titus at their head, weapons blazing as they fired blind into the cloud ahead. Enemy fire came through, but it was ineffective, rounds falling randomly with no way to aim. Titus' autosenses flicked on as he entered the smoke, cutting through the haze, and he raised an arm as he realised his momentum was about to carry him through a wall.

His momentum punched him through, the weakened metal of the wall screeching as his mass tore a hole within it. He turned on the spot, banner clipping the wall, raising his shotgun and unloading a blast of lead in to the visor of a foe as it turned to face him, smashing it to the ground. Several of the creatures on the upper floor turned as he ripped his way in, and leapt down to face him, rifles blazing as they opened fire.

His shotgun tore the first to the ground, a swing from the banner impaling the second, while a trio of soldiers burst through the hole Titus had torn and opened fire on the third, combined power of their weapons enough to wear down its shields and punch through its armour.

More Reaper roared towards him, and Titus raised the standard high as her charged forwards with a roar.

"FORTH! TO GLORY!"

#

"Targets in sight," came the alert from their forward scout. "At least three companies worth of soldiers, five stalk tanks. Loose formation."

"Understood," Cyralius replied. "All units, hold fire, wait until they're in the killing zone, wait for the signal. You'll know it when you see it."

He glanced down to Jack, crouched behind a pile of rubble and concealed further by a diffraction cloak, a barely visible shimmer covering the biotic's position.

"Worried, Jack?"

"Why should I be, Cyril?" she replied. "I've got you with me."

The epistolary smiled at this.

"They're coming up close," a whispered alert came in his ear. "Nearly in the ambush zone."

"I hear you," Cyralius replied.

He drew a deep breath before tapping the well of infinite madness and might that was the Warp, drawing its invisible energies around himself as he cast a glamour, rendering himself invisible to the eyes and auguries of the Reapers. He frowned as he felt a dull ache at the back of his skull, like some mild migraine, stronger than it was yesterday. What was that?

The enemy came into view, one of their walkers in the lead, while the soldiers concealed in the buildings and rubble around them dug into their cover just a little deeper for fear of attracting the dread machines' notice. Only Cyril remained where he was, concealed by his powers, as the machines moved forwards. They were hurrying, doubtless moving to reinforce their comrades tied up with Malleus' armoured push into their centre, and it took them a moment to notice Cyralius as he dropped the glamour, his omni-tool active in his hand.

"Greetings," he said warmly, before pressing the hologram.

The mines in the middle of the road blasted into life, gouts of flame roaring upwards. One of the blasts struck one of the Reaper tanks right in its weakly armour belly, punching straight through before it could bring its kinetic barriers to bear on that point, while Reaper soldiers were sent flying by the explosion, shields overwhelmed and armour melted away.

Fire roared into the enemy troopers around them as the warriors of the SAS opened up. Grenades clattered down in the foe's midst, cooking off and slamming more apart, while shields were overwhelmed by a volume of precisely placed shots.

One of the stalk tanks turned its beam weapons towards the buildings where the soldiers of the Alliance were sheltering, before a blast of pure white light, wreathed in crackling lightning, tore into its hull. Its shields were overwhelmed in an instant, hull melting away, and it collapsed to the ground a smoking ruin.

The remaining three stalk tanks turned their attentions to Cyralius at once, and their beam weapons blazed as they fired them towards the Epistolary. A curtain of psychic power sprang up, catching them before they hit home, and he hissed slightly as the ache in the back of his skull began to grow.

Steam curling from their barrels, the stalk tanks curtailed their fire before the weapons overheated. In reply he dropped the shield and raised his hand.

There was a deep cracking noise sounded over the battle. Accompanied by a deep rumble, miniature canyons split the roadway the stalk tanks walked upon, racing towards the machines. The ground roared as it crumbled away beneath their metallic feet, the earth on either side of the vehicles rising up, a great maw of mud, concrete and twisted piping, before crashing closed. Metal screamed as it was bent and torn, and the three blasphemous machines were crushed utterly.

He frowned as he felt the back of his head, before glancing over to his left to see one of the Reaper soldiers with its rifle raised, about to dash it against his helmless skull. He raised a hand, but a flare of pain slowed him, and it passed his guard before he could stop it.

A grasp of azure energy suddenly plucked the xenos machine away from him, sending it spiralling away to clatter against the ground.

"Don't touch him!" Jack yelled as she stepped forwards, biotic hammerblows raining upon it. "Don't you dare fucking touch him!"

The biotic's fury was almost frightening to behold, ripping the construct apart, smashing and ripping and tearing until it was mere scraps of ruined metal and circuit board, utterly unrecognisable.

"You alright, Cyril?" Jack asked, turning to the epistolary with a look of consternation writ across her features.

"It didn't touch me," Cyralius replied. "Thank you, Jack."

"Not a problem," she replied. She smiled slightly. "Don't want you getting yourself hurt, Cyril."

The epistolary smiled and shook his head.

"Don't worry, I'm quite capable of looking after myself," he replied, raising a hand towards a squad of Reaper soldiers that had managed to take cover against the ambush that had already gunned down half their comrades. Bolts of flame sprang from his fingertips, wailing as they soared towards the foe, exploding in their midst and immolating armour and shields.

The gunfire died down only a few moment later, and Cyralius flicked the vox bead on.

"Sergeant, I hope that means what I want it to." 

"It does; they're down. Good job with the earthworks, by the way."

"A pleasure."

"Where's our next location?"

"UAVs say there are reinforcements moving in from the North, about half a mile from here," Cyralius replied. He noticed an orange glow at the edge of his vision, and turned to see what it was. "We can…we can…Oh, Emperor on Terra."

The burning ruin of an Alliance Dreadnought was falling from the sky.


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24-Fire and Steel

Their engines roared their prayers as they advanced, crushing the enemy beneath steel treads and armoured hulls. Their machine guns barked litany after litany, bullets spraying their holy fury across the field. Their hulls were their faith, unyielding and unbreakable against the strongest of resistance, their treads their will, overcoming everything in their path. This was no mere battle. Though many of the soldiers driving their vehicles did not know it, this was prayer in its purest, most holy form, and Malleus was exalting in it.

"Thunder Three, move up on my flank!" he ordered, practically roaring into the vox. "We've got stalk tanks pushing against the centre, get round them."

"Understood, Angel," the commander of Thunder Three replied. "Moving."

"Good, Angel out. On my target, Okeen," Malleus said, lasering a building ahead of his vehicle. The turret swivelled and the cannon roared, metal walls crumpled away at the impact of the high explosive shell's impact. Behind the ruined wall, the footsoldiers of the Reapers were blasted apart, their shields and armour no match for the Somme's main gun. "We are the lightning of His Wrath!"

The munitions light at the edge of the tank's control panel winked red as Okeen pulled an empty magazine of shells from the tank's mass accelerator cannon, before a moment later it changed to green as a full clip was slammed home. Malleus pointed out the same target, the final remnants of the Reaper soldiers, one of them hefting one of their beam launchers into place to fire, before a shell sent from Okeen obliterated it entirely. "We are the thunder of His hate!"

A cry of warning came up from the rest of Thunder One, an alert of incoming Stalk Tanks, and Malleus immediately barked orders to the soldiers around the Sommes to bring heavy weapons to bear. Many of them carried the stolen Reaper anti-tank weapons, and though he could see the logic, the Alliance's own anti-tank weapons useless against the Reaper's stalk tanks, such a thing rankled him immensely.

"Thunder One, hold your fire," Malleus ordered. "Let the infantry have the first few kills. When their weapons need to cool, Delta Section fire on the next foe to present itself, then Charlie Section. Rotate firing, we can hold them off as long as we have munitions to fire."

At least, until the things came to flank them. Then they would have to adapt. No matter, he was an Astartes brother captain, one of the finest warriors and tacticians the Emperor had; if anything could adapt to the situation, it was he.

The first of the machines entered the impromptu square the Alliance had made with their orbital bombardment from a side street was hit by a volley of heavy weapons fire, crimson beams spearing into it. Its kinetic barriers were overwhelmed in moments, before its hull was melted away. Forced into single file, the second suffered the same fate, a smoking ruin.

The front of one of the buildings over to their left was suddenly ripped downwards as a stalk tank crashed through, weapons aimed squarely at Malleus' tank. The Somme's engines roared as Hullen accelerated forwards, not waiting for orders, and once again the brother captain thanked whoever designed the vehicle for its turn of speed as the beam weapons turned the ground he was on to glass. The turret swivelled and the cannon barked as it sent a shell smashing into its shields, the impact enough to stumble the unholy machine, before two more impacts from the rest of Thunder One killed it outright. Another stalked in from their rear, and before the armour could react, its weapons blazed into life, slamming into the rear of one of Thunder One's tanks and blasting it apart, even as the crew's comrades avenged them.

"Enemy infantry coming in from our front!" a report crackled from Malleus' ear.

"Stalk tanks, from both sides!"

"Stand firm, in the name of the Emperor!" Malleus ordered, even as he swung the machine gun mounted in his Somme's cupola to open fire. "Alliance Air Wing, this is Angel and Thunder One. We have large numbers of armour and infantry on our position, and need immediate close air support."

"Affirmate, Angel," came the reply. "Birds are in the air, ETA one minutes."

The Somme rumbled into life as Hullen gunned its engine to avoid incoming fire, the cannon roaring a retort and blasting into the offending stalk tank. A shot from another member of Thunder One slammed into its shields, knocking them out, before a final one from Malleus' tank smashed into its side armour, smashing through it before the shell exploded within.

Beside them, a platoon of infantry had taken cover beside some ruined walls, exchanging fire, while one of his commissars, clad in the distinctive greatcoat and cap of his rank over his body armour, exhorted the soldiers with him to fight harder. With the situation as it was, enemy fire zipping from all around and armour on their position, most mortal soldiers would have broken and ran, but the greatcoated warrior with them meant no retreat was possible. Commendable, certainly, and proof that forming the commissariat was not a wasted effort; Thunder One needed their infantry escort. A barrier of biotic force shimmered into existence around them, and Malleus saw Samara standing over the soldiers around them, her palms ablaze with dark energy. Beside her, Grunt stood, grinning now that he could fire without obstruction, emptying the magazine of his rifle into the foe ahead, while a Reaper soldier wielding one of their beam weapons suddenly toppled and fell, a hole punched through its helmet, the work of Legion. A trio of plasma bolts hissed outwards into the hull of a stalk tank, burning past its shields and armour, and Kullas chattered a binaric litany as he turned the flamer of his servo harness upon a nearby knot of enemy infantry. Once again, xenos, abominations and heretics though they were, the team were doing him proud.

The square was swiftly turning into chaos, a swirling melee of tanks as they tried to manoeuvre out of the way of stalk tank fire and return at the same time. Two of the Sommes had been reduced to smoking wreckage, with only another of the stalk tanks downed in return, and Malleus flicked the vox on once more.

"Air Wing, this is Angel. Where's our air support; we're running out of time here!"

"We're here, Angel," came the reply. "We're bringing the noise!"

With a shriek of engines, a trio of planes soared overhead. Heavy bore, rapid fire cannons roared into life, sending hundreds of shells slamming into shields and hulls. Mighty as the barriers on the stalk tanks were, they were no match for the sheer volume of firepower screaming into them, the vehicles ripped asunder while explosions scattered Reaper soldiers, tearing them to ribbons of ruptured metal and ruined circuit boards.

"I want one of those," Hullen voxed up, and Malleus chuckled.

"Thunder One, form up and advance," he said. "My thanks for the air support. We should be able to handle it from here."

"Any time, Angel," the tankbuster flight replied as they pulled away to refuel and rearm. "Just call."

Thunder One was moving into formation, Malleus ordering Hullen to move their tank to the fore of the group. The squadrons they had formed into were splitting, covering each block, and Malleus was to be the speartip, leading the charge. He flicked the vox bead on, ready to give order, before Alliance comms suddenly came alive with rapid, panicked communication.

Across the radio network, words such as 'ambush,' 'casualties,' 'debris,' 'mayday,' and 'downed' flitted, growing increasingly panicked with each repetition, before another message came across, this one different in its tone, one that was awed and fearful.

Look to the sky.

Surrounded by a corona of flame, glowing red hot as the atmosphere furiously protested its attempted entry, hull turned crimson, metal twisting and bending out of shape, a ship fell. It was a big one, and Malleus realised after a moment that it was nothing short of a dreadnought, the once mighty ship careering towards the ground like some meteorite of burning steel. It hit somewhere outside the city with a great scream of tortured metal, a great pall of dust being thrown up by the impact, and the brother captain cursed.

An explosion turned the dust-choked clouds above crimson for a moment, before the burning hulk of another of the Alliance's dreadnoughts broke the barrier of water vapour. This one fell at no angle, but instead straight downwards, threatening to crash atop the city below, and as he realised the path it was taking, Malleus bellowed orders into the vox. Engines roared into life as infantry scrambled to the tanks, grabbing handholds as the heavily armoured vehicles lurched forwards at full pelt. Treads carried the tanks forwards over piles of rubble and through the gutted innards of ruined buildings, Malleus frantically sending out orders as he did so, moving troops and vehicles in shelter as fire began to rain upon the Alliance.

"Anderson!" he shouted into the vox as his command tank lurched forwards. "What in the Emperor's name is going on up there?"

"Reapers," Anderson replied. "They jumped us, going after our dreads. We're getting the hell out, and the Asari are on their way to support us, but we're getting pounded up here."

Malleus cursed. Thinking the Reapers were still on the retreat, he had ordered the Alliance's dreadnoughts into the upper atmosphere so they could line up the best shots, confident they could safely lower their shields with the Reapers currently out of the way. And now the only ships with the big enough guns to be a tangible threat against the Reapers were caught out, thanks to his foolishness.

"Get moving, Admiral," Malleus said. "Minimise dreadnought casualties; shield them with lighter ships if you have to."

"I'll see what I can do," Anderson said. "Anderson out."

"Down there!" a voice suddenly crackled across the vox. "I can see railway tunnels, dead ahead. We can shelter there."

A feed from one of the sensor on the other Sommes appeared on Malleus' command consoles, showing a tunnel, and Malleus flicked the vox on; "Well spotted, trooper. Thunder One, head for the tunnels, we'll have to wait this storm out there."

The tanks rumbled in to their impromptu shelter, wide enough take two Sommes abreast, Malleus' one last in. From the mouth of it, they could see the sky had been tinged by a deep crimson, an another meteorite fell as a dreadnought was smashed from the sky, ground shaking from the impact and a small rain of masonry clattering from the ceiling. It was a bombardment as effective as any a battle barge could muster, Malleus reflected; anything beneath that would be annihilated, while, as with any good ordnance barrage, the enemy had been sent fleeing to cover.

From the cupola of his vehicle, he called up a map, the hologram displaying the layout of London before him and the position of the forces under his command. Many of them had already taken shelter or done their best to flee the rain of steel and fire, but judging by the green markers that showed disposition of the Alliance forces, he had taken heavy casualties. With a feeling of relief, he realised that both the ambush force that Cyralius had commanded and the assault group Titus was leading from the North had found shelter. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the barrage to halt.

He clambered out of the cupola of his tank, boots thudding against the ground, before he said; "Everyone, on me."

Curious, the crews of the tanks, his team and the soldiers with them clambered out, or simply came from where they were resting against the tunnel walls, tired from their flight. They formed a semi-circle around him, wanting to know what he had to say, before he spoke.

"We have no option but to wait out this bombardment," Malleus said. "In the meantime,I say that we pray."

He got to one knee, Hullen, Okeen and Kullas doing the same without a moment's hesitation, and the others around them followed after a short while, unsure.

"Hail the Emperor, Lord of Man," Malleus said, in English for the sake of his audience. His brothers repeated the words, along with a few soldiers. "Master of Terra, Keeper of the Imperium."

This time, more voices joined him.

"Emperor, look upon the storm and in your wisdom, grant us its strength," Malleus continued. The prayer had always been a favourite of his back in the Imperium, and hopefully the soldiers of Thunder One and its escort could draw inspiration from it as well. "Grant us the swiftness and the fury of lightning, so that we might smite our foes with such ferocity that they are reduced to ruin."

Once again this was repeated.

"Grant us the hate and might of thunder, twin of lightning, so terrible in its majesty that our enemies shall quail in terror in its path and be scattered before it. Grant us the cunning and persistence of the rain, so that our foe may be divided, weak and doubtful even before we strike. Finally, grant us the strength of the wind, so that we may topple the foe's blasphemous works into ruin, and grant them nothing to rebuild with."

This too was repeated, the uncertainty gone from the soldiers' words now. Malleus could not help but find this refreshing; even in this universe, the might of the Emperor could inspire.

"Grant us these things so that we might execute your divine mandate, o Emperor. Grant us these thing so that we might slay the foe before us, drive our blades into his black heart and burn the dank pits of his lairs. Grant us these things, almighty Emperor, so that we may triumph in the struggle to come. Ave Imperator deus immortale, rex Terra, dominus hominem. Imperator vult!"

The words repeated back to him had fervour behind them, Malleus saw, and he knew then that he had inspired true faith. Tempered by a soldier's discipline, such a thing would be lethal in the battles to come; he would have to keep the men of Thunder One close. Only Samara and Legion, he noticed, were not repeating his words, the latter most likely because it believed in no gods, and the Justicar had her own goddess; one prayer, even one led by the Angel himself, would not be enough to sway nine centuries of devotion, he imagined.

The rain of fire outside had ceased, and Malleus glanced over to the soldiers before him.

"Mount up, my friends," he said. "The day is not yet won."

Engines roared into life, while the infantry escort got into position with a fresh resolve to their stance. Malleus clambered back into the cupola of his command tank, Okeen already gunning the engine, before he gave the order to advance. His tank was first out, rumbling up the ramp of rubble that had lead into the train tunnel, before he drew it to a halt as he saw what now lay ahead of them in the ruined city.

Titans walked upon London.

**Authors note: I may have watched the Mass Effect 3 E3 trailer, yes…**


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25-God Machines

Five of them converged upon Yamzarat Machtoro, and the god machine chuckled as he saw the foe.

"So what are you?" he asked the onyx behemoths, stalking towards him on four great legs. Onyx hulls swept back in one smooth curve to a short, pointed tail, an armoured shell, while beneath plates of armoured glass some sort of lense sat, staring at him with a piercing gaze. Auxiliary batteries of flak cannons and missiles clung to their flanks, no doubt for warding off aircraft, while great legs that ended in pointed, sickle claws stabbed at the ground they walked upon. The things were huge, almost Yamzarat Machtoro's size, but the god machine simply chuckled at this.

"You are pale imitations, Almarach Ikmrin," he boomed, tone strangely jovial. "Children, playing games with costumes and sticks; you of all things cannot capture the glory of the Akriit's Machtoro machines. You are thieves and frauds, the lot of you, stealing my people's technology for your own use. And do you know what happens to thieves? They are caught and they are punished!"

The only reply of the Almarach Ikmrin's massive war machines was to fire.

Crimson light lanced from the lenses at the centre of the machines' frontal armour, aimed squarely towards Yamzarat Machtoro's head. The god machine grunted as they slammed against his forwards shields, and for a minute he held his ground, braced against the impacts. There was only so long the machines could fire before they had to cool their weapons, and then he would make his move.

Fire slacked off, and there seemed to be an edge of irritation about the Reaper machines at the fact that Yamzarat Machtoro had not fallen, before the great walker moved, powering to the left at full speed, stepping over the small army of Geth his feet. His railgun shrieked into life, the shot glancing off the shields of one, before his cannon roared, rapid firing shots smashing against the barriers guarding it.

Fire speared towards him once more, but he kept moving, much of it missing and instead blazing through the countryside they fought in. Arcologies were crushed beneath Yamzarat Machtoro's footfalls, fields and roads left as patches of pulverised mud. Flames sprang up from the burning contrails of the cannon shots, crops set ablaze, but the duelling colossi paid such a puny threat no heed, while the synthetics below them scattered to avoid the rapidly spreading fires.

His railgun hit his target once more, cannon still blazing, but the Reaper machines moved, barrelling towards him, uncaring for the pulse shots of the Geth that speared upwards towards them. Yamzarat Machtoro roared as their fire smashed into his shields once more, readings alerting him that power to his shields was dangerously low; even an organic would have simply needed to look at his remaining power and that depleted by the enemy shots to see they would not last beneath another barrage.

His railgun switched to a porgramat tipped round, took aim, and fired into the weapon lense of one of the machines. The armoured glass that protected it shattered beneath the impact that slid past its shields, and had he lips Yamzarat Machtoro would have sneered; the beam weapons the Reapers used were too fragile to be reliable.

The machine stumbled back, flames billowing from the wound, throwing up great rents in the ground as the impact sent it half walking, half toppling into one of its fellows. It recovered its balance before it moved, scuttling towards Yamzarat Machtoro, a sickle claw stamping down on a colossus and crushing it. The titan raised his cannon in response, shells roaring into its shields, before the kinetic barriers of the Reapers' behemoth gave, weakened by its collision with its fellow. Explosions rippled across its armoured hull, stumbling the machine, and it fell, a great rent torn up in the earth. One of its legs twitched, a great pointed claw grabbing at the ground, and it tried to raise itself, before a railgun round screamed from the two-pronged weapon, smashing into the joint and slicing through. It fell in a spray of sparks and oil, the machine slamming to the ground, before a second round shrieked into its hull, punching past armour and detonating within. It fell still, smoke rising from its empty shell, and Yamzarat Machtoro glanced at the rest of his foes to see he was outflanked.

He roared as the foe fired, channelling all available power to his depleted shields, cursing them as the beams of crimson slammed into the barriers around him, before a shot on his right broke through, a runnel of blackened and scorched metal scored in the armour on his shoulder. Yamzarat Machtoro shifted his cannon arm to fire, its movement suddenly stiff and arthritic, and he growled a curse.

He fired, backpedalling to avoid the enemy's flanking attempt, a porgramat round screaming from his railgun to glance against the armour of another Reaper walker, denting the metal, before return shots lanced towards him yet again. Yamzarat Machtoro kept moving, fire tearing at the ground around him, one of them glancing off his leg. He gave a roar of pain, and turned to return fire, the shot slamming into a leg joint. The machine in question tried to step forward, but stumbled, the metallic limb suddenly useless, and the god machine tried to pull itself upwards to fire on Yamzarat Machtoro once more.

Even with hydraulic fluid spraying from the wound sliced into his leg, Yamzarat Machtoro moved, limping enough to put the enemy machine between himself and its comrades. His railgun screamed again, a second shot crippling the thing's rear leg, laming it entirely, and the machine collapsed to the ground. It shook as it tried to rise, scraping towards him, halfway up before it fell again.

Unfortunately for Yamzarat Machtoro, its beam lense was pointed straight at him.

It fired, the god machine cursing as he forced power into his shields to halt its path, the kinetic barriers struggling to stop the beam of lethal energies being channelled towards him.

The fire cut off, and Yamzarat Machtoro activated his railgun, the round shattering the armoured glass protecting the beam launcher, before he left it as it was; lamed and disarmed, it was of no threat, thrashing helplessly on the ground.

Three remained, but Yamzarat Machtoro was wounded, power levels dangerously depleted, and part of him doubted whether he could win this fight. Even though the Geth valiantly sent fire into the god machines before them, it was ineffective, shots stopped by kinetic barriers, their weapons having nowhere the near the required power to overhwlem the shields.

Light shone at the heart of the Reaper behemoth's lenses, before crimson screamed towards Yamzarat Machtoro. He moved, limping away as it tracked towards him, glancing off his chest armour. In return, he fired his railgun, the round glancing off the plating that protected one of the thing's knees, enough to stumble it and ruin its shot, the beam instead scoring across Geth lines.

Missiles from Geth support platforms arced up, exploding upon the shields that protected the weapon lenses of the monstrous Reaper machines, sprays of shrapnel and flame blasting across the primary sensors, blinding the machines.

Yamzarat Machtoro fired once more, the porgramat tipped railgun round, smashing into the eye lense of the machine, but the Titan simply thundered forwards, determined to kill despite the damage that had been wrought by Yamzarat Machtoro's armaments. It crashed into him with a great shriek of twisting metal, the Askriit's colossal war machine giving a roar of fury. Both stumbled back, the Reaper titan's shields overloaded by the impact, Yamzarat Machtoro's armour dented and battered.

Before it could recover Yamzarat Machtoro raised his railgun and fired, the round screaming forwards to impact the thick armour protecting the machine. The force of the blow was enough stagger it, and once more he fired, puncturing its armour, the round boring through its metallic shell to detonate within. Explosions blasted outwards from vents and hatches, before the machine toppled with a groan of metal, crashing into the ground as a tangle of limbs and twisted steel.

The remaining two fired once more, slicing a rent out of his railgun shoulder as Yamzarat Machtoro tried to limp out of their way, growling in agony. He tried to move the arm, but it was unresponsive, utterly paralysed, and he roared in fury at the realisation.

He turned to face the foe, switching his cannon's fire to airburst shells before charging forwards, half running, half limping, the weapon thundering as he sent the shells right into the faces of his colossal foes; the airburst rounds would do nothing more than disorientate his enemies, but that was all he needed.

He reached the front one of the two and turned, sending his railgun swinging towards his foe. The armour of his elbow crashed into its curved hull, stumbling the machine, before he stabbed at it with his cannon, the barrel of the weapon slamming against its front. The sheer force of the impact was enough to cause its shields to crackle out, before he opened fire with his cannon, the point blank shots slamming into its armour, blasting it away and leaving its inner workings as a shattered ruin.

The last one fired once more, Yamzarat Machtoro barely managed to throw himself out of the shots way, chunk of metal sliced from the armour of his chest, smashing to the ground with a clang.

He screamed in fury, throwing himself forwards and slamming bodily into the enemy war machine. Onyx scraped against white as they collided, Yamzarat Machtoro cursing his foe, his foe's ancestors and its construction as they slammed together, but the impact was enough to throw his foe to the floor, Yamzarat Machtoro stumbling but remaining upright, smoke leaking from the rents torn into his armour.

It reached for him with a clawed foot, but he stamped down, crushing the limb, before he turned his cannon upon its prone form and fired. Its armour did not withstand the bombardment.

The foe that he had lamed and crippled did not last much longer; a swarm of mechanical locusts, squadrons of Geth repair drones flocked around it, cutters stripping away seams that held armour plates in place and exposing the mechanisms beneath. Each part was removed systematically for later study, even as the machine thrashed and bucked beneath their remorseless deconstruction. It fell still after a few minutes, gutted and stripped by the mindless drones.

Steam venting from his wounds, wind blowing through his inner workings, oil leaking from gashes and rents, Yamzarat Machtoro deactivated higher cogitational functions and slumped into hibernation mode as the drones began their repairs.

#

"Keep moving!" Malleus ordered. "Don't allow it a clear shot; keep underneath it!" 

Engines roared, guns blazed, machine guns chattered as Thunder One did battle in the shadow of a god machine. Above them it stalked, clawed feet slicing into the ground as it tried to move its lethal beam weapon into a firing line.

Around it, Alliance forces swarmed, battling against the Reaper army that had been dropped with the Titan. Columns of Sommes duelled phalanxes of stalk tanks, Alliance soldiers, accompanied by roaring, bombadistic commissars, exchanged fire with visored Reaper soldiers. In the skies above, Alliance aircraft fought with Reaper planes, cannon, missile and chaingun fire screaming across the air, crimson beams of focussed light blazing back.

Explosions rippled against the leg joints of the Reaper titan as the Sommes fired upon them, trying to cripple the weak, unarmoured points of the immense machine whose underside towered near fifty metres overhead. Its legs slammed down as it moved, trying to position itself so that it could fire upon the vehicles beneath it that dared defy it.

"Kurias," Malleus called into the vox. "Where's the thunderhawk? We need that turbo laser."

Above him, there was a screech as the titan fired, a blood red beam slicing across the ground it touched, a ripple of explosions springing up from where a squadron of Mako tanks were torn apart, annihilated by its apocalyptically powerful caress.

"I'm trying," Kurias said. "They've got wise to it; there are more interceptors than there were when those damn Reapers came down yesterday; I'm having trouble fighting through them."

"Keep trying," Malleus replied. "I doubt we're going to manage to take this thing down with Sommes."

"I'll do my best, brother captain," Kurias replied.

Beneath Malleus' feet, the turret of his Somme rocked as it fired, a shell exploding against the kinetic barriers that warded the titan's leg joints. The brother captain glanced over to the left of his position, towards the outer reach of the Titan's legs, a squad of Reaper soldiers moving towards his position.

"Hullen, keep to evasive manoeuvres," Malleus ordered, taking the machine gun in hand and opening up on the foe. The tank bumped and jolted along the ground, and such a thing should have thrown a gunner, but Malleus had fought from tanks for centuries, rounds chewing along the ground and into the Reapers before them. Kinetic barriers were overwhelmed by the heavy duty rounds, armour punched through, circuitry and mechanisms shredded.

There was a whistling from above, and with contrails of smoke, missiles flew upwards from racks upon the flanks of the Reaper titan. With a shriek of engines, the Thunderhawk swept overhead, missiles in pursuit. One of them exploded against its engine, and it pulled away, smoke leaking from the damaged component.

"Brother captain, I can't make another pass with the Thunderhawk in this state," Kurias called over the vox. "I'm pulling her out before we lose her."

"Understood," Malleus said. "We'll bring this down another way."

"Brother captain, we can use my melta," Hullen voxed up. "One shot should be all we need."

"We'll be too vulnerable without the cannon or if we're immobilised," Malleus replied. "And I need to be able to see if I'm to command." 

"Malleus, it's Garrus here. I can drive that tank," another voice crackled across the vox. "Let me get over to you."

"You know how to drive a Somme?" Malleus asked. "Since when did a vigilante learn to pilot tanks?" 

"Since I hooked up with Shephard," came the reply, as Malleus saw the Turian clamber over a pile of rubble towards them. "He could never drive the Normandy's Mako properly, so he gave it over to me, not that I blame him; that thing handled like a drunken Elcor."

The Turian reached them, Malleus noticing his armour was battered and scarred, dark blue blood leaking from a few cuts across his face, before the driver's hatch opened and Hullen climbed out, surprisingly agile despite his bulk and the clumsy dimensions of the assault cannon he pulled out with him.

"Look after her," he said to Garrus as the Turian climbed in. "Damn fine vehicle."

"They won't even scratch the paint," Garrus replied. "Give 'em hell, Hullen!"

Hullen nodded, and even with his helmet on Malleus could tell he was grinning.

"I'm going to enjoy killing something big as this," he replied, hefting his melta in one hand. "Come on, you overgrown bastard, let's see you die!"

He stalked towards one of the massive legs of the vehicle as it slammed downwards into the ground, a small mound of pulverised earth and rubble pushed up around the pointed limb. He lowered his assault cannon, placing it on the ground next to him, before hefting his melta and firing.

There was the scream as the air was rent asunder by the sheer heat of the weapon, and a solid blast of incandescent white, so blindingly bright that a corona of heat and light played around the barrel of the weapon, tore from the barrel of the melta and into the armoured leg of the machine.

Its kinetic barriers overloaded in an instant, armour evaporating away a moment later as Hullen played the weapon across its limb. It cut out only after a second of fire, the adamantium barrel burning crimson, but the damage had been done.

Balance gone, the titan fell, slowly crashing down to the ground, throwing up a great cloud of rubble as its massive hull smashed to the ground, sheer weight buckling and collapsing the metal as it toppled downwards.

No tanks of Thunder One were crushed beneath the titan's fall, and they turned their cannons upon its belly, shells smashing into armour. Hullen's melta shrieked its judgement again, metal turning molten and running away in rivulets of liquid onyx, revealing internal mechanisms beneath. Heavy duty shells exploded amongst inner workings, blasting apart engines and pistons, valves, pipes and wiring, tearing them apart in flame and shrapnel. It struggled, trying to rise and fight once more, beam fire helplessly scything from its weapon-lense in futile rage, before a final shot from Hullen, this time to its head, finished its attempts to escape.

Cheers resounded across London as it died, soldiers whooping and yelling in glee, firing their weapons into the air in celebration. Across the Alliance's comm. networks, news came in of the last of the Reaper forces being mopped up by the Alliance's assault, the Reapers' final gambit with their dropped titan not enough to halt them. Jubilation from Alliance soldiers reigned across the city as news of the behemoth's fall and their victory spread, and despite himself, Malleus smiled.

London had been one, and the chink in the Reapers' armour had been opened, one that would tear the enemy apart. They would consolidate, swiftly as they could, resupply and reinforce, and then they would move.

London was just the start. The battle for Europe had only just begun.


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter 26-Gift

"I am not happy about this, Malleus," Deniel Suvat said. "I am not happy at all."

"I don't blame you," Malleus replied as he looked over the figures. "One hundred thousand dead?" 

"And most of them the Heirarchy's best soldiers," Deniel added. "That machine thing the Reapers dropped took out half our armour before we could bring it down. There's no way I can advance without reinforcements."

"You and General Mehriss have hooked your forces up now though, have you not? Are the Asari Commandoes and the Krogan with you not sufficient reinforcement?"

"Not after the casualties we took as well," the Asari replied from her corner of the screen. "Malleus, I'm going to be honest; I don't like how you're trying to fight this war."

"Really? How so, general?" Malleus asked.

"We're losing too many people, too quickly," Mehriss replied. "You may be happy throwing soldiers into the meatgrinder, but I'm certainly not."

"Mehriss has a point," Deniel said. "However you fight wars in your galaxy, we don't just use attritional tactics. We actually fight cleverly."

"Indeed, General," Malleus said. "And you fight slowly. This ground war is just a side-show to the conflicts in space, but our success in capturing those guns will be what wins it for us."

"I know your plan is a good one," Mehriss said. "But we're still losing too many people! If we slow down our advance, we can take a lot less casualties and still capture those guns, even if it does take longer."

"And how much longer do we have?" Malleus asked. "We are losing ships by the hour, and nearly all of our reserves have been deployed already. Speed is absolutely imperative to victory, General, and if we lose the war in pace then we're easy targets for orbital bombardment."

"He's right," Wrex suddenly said. "We're fighting to keep our species alive here; we can't afford to worry about casualties when there's this much at stake."

"Agreed," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled. "It seems to me that only Wrex, Malleus and the Geth have the right idea about how to fight this war; the Geth do not come pining to me about casualties and losses, they simply go to battle without complaint."

"That's because they can back themselves up," Deniel said. "In case you hadn't noticed, organics can't do that."

"And what of it? Where is your courage, Turian? The Askriit could make no backups of themselves, yet they still fought to the last. If they can summon together the bravery to do so, why can you not?"

Wrex grinned at this.

"I like your robot, Malleus," he remarked.

"My point is not about bravery or anything like that," Deniel said. "My point is that we don't have the numbers to continue our assault on the Americas as it is, and if maintaining momentum is so vital then we need to come up with a new plan."

"Pah," Yamzarat Machtoro grumbled. "Die like men. How's that for a plan?"

"Malleus can we get this thing off the comm. channel?" Mehriss asked. "It's clearly not got anything constructive to add."

"How dare you?" Yamzarat Machtoro growled. "I am Yamzarat Machtoro, little blue bazthrocht! I am immortal, victor of a thousand battles, slayer of Almarach Ikmrin, Scion of the Askriit, Lord Commander of the Machtoro host! I was ancient before your ancestors even fell out of a tree!"

"Well if you were a commander in the Askriit's army, then it's no wonder the Reapers wiped them out," Mehriss retorted.

"You…you abominable little creature!" Yamzarat Machtoro roared. "Worm! Whore! Billions, no, trillions of my people died, and you dare make it seem that I was a fault while you whimper and wail about casualties, and I actually go out there and fight the good fight! Have you won the most ground against the Almarach Ikmrin? No, I have! Insult the legacy of my people again and I shall abandon this war, wade across the ocean and kill you myself!"

"Stop it, both of you," Malleus interjected. "You squabble like children and I will not allow it, do you understand?"

"Alright," Mehriss said. "I still don't think this thing knows what it's talking about, but I'll let it pass."

"Your concerns have been noted," Malleus said. "Yamzarat Machtoro?" 

"The little blue whore insulted me," Yamzarat Machtoro snarled. "I will not let such a thing go unmarked."

"You will," Malleus said. "Stand down immediately."

Yamzarat Machtoro growled, the sound harsh and rasping across the comm. link, before he said; "Very well, Malleus. I shall do this, but only out of respect for you."

"Good," Malleus said. "Though I would ask if you would be so good as to not irritate our only friendly god machine, General Mehriss; he does still have his uses, whatever you may think. Still, before you two started arguing, I believe we had agreed we needed a new plan."

Deniel nodded.

"As I said, there's no way we can make any progress in North America," he said. "But we still need those guns. Currently, our best bet lies in taking the ones in Europe, but we need to do that quickly."

"It sounds to me, general, that you have a plan of some kind," Malleus said.

"I do," Suvat said. "I say that we pull out of the Americas entirely; there's no way we can gain ground, and if you think that Alliance can take Europe then we can do it even quicker with the aid of the Krogan, the Turians and the Asari. I can't say I'm too happy about abandoning the ground we've taken, but the plan we've got at the moment clearly isn't going to work."

"A consolidation of forces?" Malleus asked. "The idea has merit, certainly. Considering the Reaper armies in mainland Europe are most likely digging in, the greater the numbers of our forces, the better."

"Moving them across the Atlantic would be pretty risky," Mehriss said. "We'd need a large numbers of lifters and drop craft to get our people across, and they're going to be vulnerable. We've got our own aircraft, but we'd need a big escort."

"I can send over Alliance planes, if that's what you're asking for," Malleus said.

"If you will allow me a moment, I shall consult with the Geth," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "They agree, and will commit twenty five percent of their interceptor craft. That should be more than enough."

"Quick consultation," Deniel remarked.

"I am linked in to their neural network," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "It allows me easier communication, though their incessant chatter tends to bore me."

"How soon can you get over here?" Malleus asked.

"As soon as those planes are with us. Mehriss, Wrex and I can make preparations to move out, but we can only move over to Britain once your planes are ready," Deniel said.

"I shall order the geth craft over to Britain," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "They can move with the Alliance."

"I'll have our pilots prep for movement straight away," Malleus agreed. "There are a few ports under Reaper control here, but we're nearly done capturing them; we can launch a landing effort from there."

"Good," Deniel said. "They'll be occupied with the Geth, so hopefully won't be able to marshal too effective a response. Speaking of the Geth, how far away are you from Beijing?" 

"Just a few days," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "The Reapers are concentrating their forces there, and our scouts have already engaged. The main body of our army should take it, but I am still undergoing repairs after my combat with Almarach Machtoro."

"What the hell is an Almarach Machtoro?" Wrex asked.

"The enemy walkers," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "I suppose, in your tongue, it would mean Hated Gods. I slew five yesterday, but I was grievously damaged, and the repair drones of these Geth are stumbling and blind when working on my systems; I need organic engineers, one with initiative and skill, not simpleton machines."

"I can fly some Alliance Engineers over to you, see who I can take from the motor pool," Malleus said. "They might be able to repair you."

"I would appreciate that, Malleus," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "What of your Astartes technician, and the little Quarian, Tali? The Geth tell me that the platform named Legion says they are engineers of great skill."

"They are…preoccupied here," Malleus said. Tali, he knew, would probably have no problem working on Yamzarat Machtoro; indeed, when the machine had met her it had seemed fond of the young Quarian, and she of him in return, but Kullas would probably go at so blasphemous a proposition. Besides, he wanted some progress on those lasrifles before he let Kullas go, not to mention the fact that the Forge Priest was the only one who knew how to the fix the Thunderhawk.

"Anything else to discuss?" Deniel asked. "We can plan the actual assault once we get there."

"Agreed," Malleus said. "Ave Imperator."

He cut the connection, and stepped out of the armoured, prefabricated bunker that made up the communications room of the Alliance command camp. There was the smell of salt and burning in the air as he looked upon Portsmouth, a few miles away over green fields. Smoke rose from the small port city, while the sound of distant explosions and gunfire filtered to his ears. For an enemy at only a few company's strength, the Reapers were being remarkably difficult to shift, and while Malleus could probably have shifted them swiftly had he taken the time to, he had needed to meet with the other generals; besides, Titus was still present, leading the assault.

"Titus," he said into the vox. "How goes the assault?"

"Well, brother captain," Titus said. "We're pushing towards the ports, nearly got them wiped out."

"Good," Malleus said. "Keep it up, brother."

"And I'll be sure to take all the glory while you're stuck back there planning," Titus retorted cheerfully. "Have fun poring over maps, my friend."

Malleus chuckled.

"Just try not to get yourself too badly beaten up in my absence," he replied. "I won't be there to drag you out should you decide to swallowed by some abomination like you were on Talavis."

This time it was Titus' turn to laugh, before he said; "No more time for chatter, I'm afraid. Portsmouth isn't going to take itself, Brother Captain."

"Very well then," Malleus said. "Lightning of His wrath."

"Thunder of His hate."

The connection was cut, and Malleus could not help but smile as he walked away to start planning his next move.

#

More maintenance needed doing, it seemed, Tali thought as she entered the Alliance's motor pool that had been set up near Portsmouth. The Quarian looked for some way she could make herself useful, before she noticed Andrew by a half-raised Mako which was under repair. He was leaning against the vehicle as she approached, flicking through a message on his omnitool.

"What's that?" she asked as she approached.

"Message from command," Andrew replied. "I'm being transferred."

"Transferred?" Tali asked. "Where to?"

"Asia," Andrew replied. "You know that big machine, what's it, Yamzarat…Yamzarat Mach…what's it?" 

"Yamzarat Machtoro," Tali said. "Remember that, he gets angry about it if you don't."

"You've met him, er, it?" Andrew asked.

"Yep," Tali said. "What are you doing with him?"

"Repairs," Andrew replied. "Apparently it doesn't like the Geth's repair drones. I'm surprised they didn't ask you along, if you know him. Hell, you're one of the best engineers we've got."

"Kullas," Tali muttered.

"What?"

"Kullas," she said again. "He hates AIs. He'd never work on him."

"Oh, right," Andrew said. "His cult thing?"

Tali nodded.

"That's right," she said. "I don't get it; I quite like Yamzarat Machtoro."

"Pity," Andrew said.

"I don't know," Tali said. "I'm not sure I'd be too happy about being surrounded by Geth, though."

"Right, of course," Andrew said. "So, I guess we won't be seeing each other for a while, unless you get sent over to Asia."

"Yeah," Tali said.

There was a slightly awkward silence between the two, before Andrew spoke: "Hey, Tali. If this ever blows over, you want to get a drink?"

Beneath her mask, Tali smiled.

"I'd like that," she said.

Andrew grinned.

"Alright," he said. "I'll message you once we're done stomping all over the Reapers in Asia."

"Cool. I'll keep an eye on them. Thanks."

"Apprentice Adept!" a call came over from by the Thunderhawk, the distinctive buzzing voice of Kullas. "May I request your presence?"

The Thunderhawk was an ugly thing, Tali thought as she stepped underneath one of its wings towards Kullas. Twice the size of any of the other fighter craft the gunships had, the plane was square and blocky, built more like a tank than an aircraft. Brutish weapons, massive versions of the bolter that Kullas sometimes carried before he had abandoned it due to lack of ammunition, and the craft's beam cannons bristled from its flanks, while the turbolaser jutted from its back like some piece of artillery.

Yet despite all of this, the thing still never failed to amaze her. For a start, the fact that it actually flew was a novelty unto itself, but the grace with which the gunship flew was something that took her breath away. She trailed her hand along its white flank, the rubbery fabric of her enviro-suit catching slightly against its armoured side as she walked.

"Kullas," she called. "You said you wanted to see me."

"Ah, Apprentice Adept Zorah Vas Normandy Nar Mechanicum," Kullas said. "You are correct."

"You want a hand with this thing's engine?" she asked, rapping her knuckles against its hull.

"That? No," Kullas said. "The machine spirit of this craft is a proud thing, and it would not accept being worked on by a mere Apprentice Adept of the Mechanicum, I am afraid."

"I've seen Kurias working on it," Tali pointed out, gesturing towards the elderly ship captain. "He does maintenance on it all the time, as far as I can tell."

"I'm her pilot," Kurias said. "The spirit will let me, because she knows me."

"Alright," Tali said. "Anyway, what did you call me for?"

"A gift, and a request," Kullas said. "This way, if you will."

He gestured for Tali to follow, and she headed across the prefab hangar that sheltered the Thunderhawk to the workbench that occupied the far corner. Atop it was the shell of a half assembled rifle, innards lying beside it. It was a strange thing to look at, the mass-effect generator hooked up to a strange looking driver core, nothing she recognised. She peered at it, before Kullas reached beneath the bench and pulled something free.

"I understand that part of the tradition of giving gifts amongst people of the Council races involves the element of surprise," Kullas said. "So, I was working on this discreetly for you."

He extended his arm, and Tali looked at the weapon he held.

It was a beautiful thing, a long handled greataxe of silver metal, the blade sleek and sweeping, razor edge segmented by square chunks taken from it, in the shape of half a cog. On one side of the flat, there was the motif of a skull, on the other, one with a bionic encrusted cranium. Kullas held it out for her to take, and she took it, feeling its weight. It was light, remarkably so, and she swung it slightly, the blade whistling as it sliced through the air. She was no expert on melee weapons, but the balance of the thing was perfect.

"This is…this is amazing," she said, quietly awed. "How did you make it?"

"The expertise of the Mechanicum is a great thing," Kullas said. "Do you see the port there? It allows you interface with it via the NIU in your bionic."

"Didn't you say you needed surgery and things to do that properly?" Tali asked.

"I configured it so that it would be safe for you mentally interface with," Kullas answered. "Try it."

She pressed the palm of her bionic into the port on the haft of the axe, before she gasped, data being fed directly back to her brain.

"How much stuff can this thing do?" she asked, momentarily staggered by the flow of information.

"Allow a safe interface for neural hacking of security systems, multiple hardware systems such a drill with multiple bits, a blowtorch for welding, wrench, and spanner, all of which are modular, and a working power field."

"A power field?" Tali asked. "Isn't that the same thing Malleus has on his weapons? I though you couldn't make those here."

"I had to adapt it to mass effect power generation, but power fields are relatively easy to make," Kullas replied. "After all, they tend to overload on impact with other power weapons; it would hardly be practical for us to have them in limited supply."

Tali pressed the activation rune on the weapon's haft, lightning crackling around the axe head of the halberd. She eyed the miniature storm raging around the head of the weapon with a slightly cautious awe.

"You are adequately acquainted with the weapon, now?" Kullas asked.

"I suppose so," Tali said, still feeling its weight. "How can I carry it?"

Kullas passed her a leather belt, a sling long enough to fit over her upper body. She slipped it on, placing the axestaff into the hoops of tanned cow skin.

"Now, I require your assistance," Kullas said. "I do not suppose you are familiar with the lasrifle, are you?"

"Lasrifle?" Tali asked. "That's a laser weapon, isn't it? I though those were impossible."

"With your technology, yes," Kullas said. "But not with the Imperium's. I have to reverse engineer it with your Mass Effect tech, but it is certainly possible. And from then, lascannons, turbolasers, _lance batteries_!"

"I see," Tali said. "You want me to help you with that?"

"Indeed," Kullas said. "What do you want me to do?"

"Help me acquire an essential component," Kullas said. "2E measurement glass lenses to refract the light through. It turns out that a shipment of them had been delivered to Portsmouth below us, which we can obtain and use for prototype models."

"Why not just call in a dropoff of them?" Tali asked.

"We are trying to deliver fragile components in the middle of a warzone," Kullas replied. "Such thing is impossible; our only chance of making the weapons any time soon is obtaining those from the town below. We'll wait until the Titus has cleared the town out, and then we shall begin our search."

"Alright," Tali said. "I've got some things that need doing."

"Very well," Kullas said. "I need to continue my repairs on the Thunderhawk in any case. Ave Omnissah, Apprentice Adept. We'll move soon."


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter 27-Gathering of Force

It had hung in they skies of Parnack for nearly an hour, and from his place in Gharezia Square, such a thing was beginning to anger Prime Alpha Gharex. Huge and forbidding, the immense ship of dark metal had simply floated above Capital-Gharezia without doing a single thing utterly inert and unmoving, disdainful of the city below it. His mouth, an inverted Y of needle fangs, splayed outwards in a grimace, and he could not shake the feeling that this thing, whatever it was, was mocking him. Either that, or it was some trick of that weakling Council.

Zeppelins and biplanes had been sent up to investigate the thing, but no openings seemed to present themselves to the scouting craft. A few explorative bursts of rockets had been fired against it, but some sort of shield had sprung from nowhere and stopped them even before they had exploded against the craft's thick armour. And that, combined with the unmistakable air of menace that the massive machine exuded simply through virtue of being present, was making him nervous.

"Prime Alpha," one his subordinates said, peering through a pair of field goggle with his primary set of eyes. "A hatch has opened."

"Give me those," Gharex growled, snatching them from his lietenant's three fingered, meaty hand. He peered through the glass at the panel of metal that slid along the massive craft's flank, before something hovered free of it. It looked like its master in miniature, sleek dark metal built to look almost organic, tapering to a pointed tail, while metallic fingers reached downwards as it flew.

"Give me a weapon," Gharex said, holding out his other hand. "If the arrogant whelps of the Council have come to try and reassert their authority upon the Yahg then they shall not see the Prime Alpha unarmed when they disembark."

The questing fingers of the landing craft touched ground, the vehicle still seeming to hover as the tips of them rested against the paved floor of Gharezia Square, before a ramp extended out of the rear of the craft. He expected delegates of the Council to walk free, the blue skinned Asari, the avian Turians and the willowy, insubstantial Salarians, but instead what stepped from the craft looked to be soldiers of some sort, shorter than the Yahg but broad shouldered nonetheless. They were protected by armour of the same blackened metal as their drop craft and their mothership, covering them from head to foot, and their faces were hidden by smooth, blank visors that merely showed the reflection of any who tried to look at them. They carried rifles of some kind, heavy, bulky things that looked a far cry from the bolt action and semi automatic rifles the Yahg used, far more graceful than the weapons of steel and wood, and far more deadly looking.

Gharex stepped forwards, his eight eyes scanning over the soldiers before him, the height of his towering bulk enhanced further by the two horns of muscle that stretched up from the back of his skull.

"What are you?" he asked, lowering his rifle and pointing it directly at the chest of the front soldier. The visored face met his own, and it said in a deep, rasping voice; "You are Gharex Alsaxin of house House Gharezia. You are current controller of the largest section of territory of the planet Parnack, that being the Western hemisphere and a notable majority of the Northern hemisphere. We are enlisting you. You will gather the other leaders of the Yahg and you will organise your forces into one coherent body. They will depart from Parnack under our command."

This got a growl from the Yahg assembled around the emissary, but Gharex could see no sign of it being intimidated.

"Who are you to order us, little creature?" Gharex argued. "We are of the Yahg! We are of a far superior stock to whatever you may be. You will act the subordinate in the face of your superiors or there shall be consequences."

"We are not named," the emissary said. "We do not require names. We are vast, powerful beyond your very imagining; we have no need of names. But if you must give us a title, name us Reapers."

"Reapers?" Gharex said. "Reapers? Hah! Your game of posturing is amusing, Reaper, but you will show us the respect we are due, now."

"You are due no respect," came the reply. "We are your superiors, in every sense imaginable. Get upon your knees and worship, should you find it fitting; other lesser races have done so as well."

The emissary remained quite calm as Gharex tracked the barrel of his rifle upwards to the centre of the Reaper's visor.

"If you are an emissary for these Reapers, you are quite the terrible one," he said. "We shall kill you and your fellow Reapers and take your ship for ourselves. From there, the galaxy will be ours! Yahg, kill these intruders!"

He fired his rifle, the bullet ricocheting off the visor with a ripple of light, not leaving a mark, before he smashed the stock of the weapon into the emmissary's faceplate. It stood there quite calmly, just like the others, as angered Yahg bulled forwards to tear the transgressor's apart.

**They are not Reapers.**

The voice paused them as one. There was something in it, some dreadful ancient malice that had the frozen in the moment, paralysed by sudden terror that screamed incoherently from some corner of their hindbrain.

**They are tools, implements, pieces of metal and circuitry used only to fulfil the tasks their masters assign to them.**

"Who…who are you?" Gharex managed to say. "Who speaks? Show yourself at once."

**I am in plain sight, Prime Alpha. Simply look skywards.**

Despite himself, Prime Alpha Gharex looked upwards at the massive vessel above him.

"The ship? The ship is a Reaper?"

**You are correct. Yahg. I shall repeat the request made. Comply. Serve.**

"And why should we, machine? We are the Yahg, apex of life and superior to all, the greatest predators existence has ever known. Why should House Gharezia follow you?"

**We are your superiors. Do not question us. Cultural studies of the Yahg show you're your people follow those who are above them. We are above your species as a whole.**

"Bold words," Gharex said. "Prove them."

In reply, one of the fingers of the craft was raised, pointing towards a patch of fields beyond the brick buildings of Capital-Gharezia. There was a screaming noise before a beam of crimson, so bright that Gharex was forced to squeeze shut his eyes, tore from the massive appendage and into the target. The barrage of deafening noise and blinding light continued for only a moment, before cutting short.

Where it had hit, fields of grass used to feed the herds of Alkroxk, the staple diet of the Yahg, had been reduced to a great blackened crater, ground cracking beneath the heat, while fires were already beginning to burn around the impact site. A great chunk of earth had simply disappeared, evaporated beneath the sheer heat of the weapon, and despite himself Gharex could not help but feel a stir of fear in his heart; the thing above them was monstrously powerful.

**We are your superiors in every sense, Yahg,** the Reaper said. **We are more ancient than you can imagine, more powerful that you are able to comprehend. Each of us is a nation, all unified in one cause, a pack that is truly unstoppable.**

"What do you want of us?" Gharex asked. His rifle had dropped, the solid slug weapon suddenly pathetic in comparison to the monstrous might of the massive voidcraft's own armaments.

**We have begun the Great Salvation once more, **came the reply. **We wish to save the peoples of this galaxy, but they have proven to be more stubborn than we anticipated. We are using you to aid us; do so and you will be granted immortality as people of our race.**

"Save the peoples of this galaxy?" Gharex asked. "Do you mean those of the Council? I refuse to help those who are too weak to help themselves."

**We save them from themselves, grant them salvation in annihilation, but they fight, blindly attempting to halt the inevitable. The Council insulted the Yahg gravely by the actions of their emmisaries, and doubly so when they withdrew instead of doing fair battle. We shall facilitate the due justice that you no doubt wish to dispense.**

It was not the way of the Yahg to question those who were dominant, and though the thing above them was not of Parnack, it was far, far superior to anything that the planet used. Even the technology of the Council's emissary beings paled in comparison to the thing in the skies above his world.

"I am yours to command, Reaper."

#

"Do you think we will simply comply?" Prime Minister Thallen asked the machine before him. "Your demands are preposterous, Reaper. We know your true nature; we may have halted the messages sent across the galaxy by Scandarum before they reached the citizens of the Hegemony, but believe me, we are not so poorly informed."

"Our demands are reasonable," the Reaper platform before his desk said. "We request the support of your military and your fleets, as well as the use of your slave population."

"Ridiculous," Thallen replied, waving a hand in dismissal. "I know what you things want; extinction of all life in the galaxy. Why would you spare the Batarians?"

"The speech made by the one you call Malleus Scandarum was an act of propaganda, wrapped in hyperbole and exaggeration," the Reaper replied. "Our intentions and motivations are not as simple as he suggests."

"Alright then," Thallen said. "What are they?"

"Our goals are incomprehensible to an organic mind," the Reaper replied. "All you need to know is that we desire the Council races and their allies gone. If you do not aid us, the Batarians will also be driven to extinction."

"You're being evasive, machine," Thallen said. "I don't like that. And I don't like all the threats you are making."

"I am not making threats," the Reaper said. "I am simply stating facts. And I am not privy to your demands; I am not required to answer one of your questions. That I answer any at all is a gift I grant to you."

Thallen glared at the thing that stood in his office, before he said; "You're beginning to anger me, you know. What's to stop me calling my guards in here and having you shot?"

"Your irritation does not concern me," the Reaper platform said. "Before you eject me from the premises, I would like to say that we have a dreadnought in orbit over four of your worlds, this one included. It is currently targeting this office. The extinction of your people would be a certainty should you refuse."

"That will kill you, though," Thallen said.

"I am a vessel for their will, here to act as a mere mouthpiece," the platform replied. "My destruction is inconsequential."

"Fine then," Thallen said. "Besides from not being nuked from orbit, what's in it for the Batarians?"

"Revenge," the Reaper answered. "The Hegemony has been persecuted and oppressed by the council for centuries, and forced your people into exile. We can grant you the means to enact the justice that you deserve. After we have wiped the council out, we can grant the Batarians the technology needed to make them immortal and all powerful, make you eternal."

"So why are you enlisting our aid?" the Prime Minister asked. "If you Reapers are all powerful, what do you need with the Batarians?"

"The Council and their allies are proving more stubborn than expected," the Reaper said. "They have disrupted our plans. You will aid us in defeating their forces."

"Fine," Thallen said. "I'll get our generals together, though this isn't because I trust you, machine; I'm doing this for the good of the Batarians and that only."

"Your motivation is of no concern to me," the Reaper replied. "All I care is that you fight the Council and their allies."

Thallen shrugged.

"Just let us win this," he said. "If not, then I've no idea how badly my people are going to suffer from this."


	29. Chapter 28

Chapter 28-Crates

"Do try to keep up, Apprentice Adept," Kullas said brusquely as he strode through the main doorway of Britannica Storage. "These lenses will not find themselves, you know."

Portsmouth had once been Britain's primary port for naval trade, back when it had been an empire, ships sailing from its docks to the Americas, India and the Far East; even when the British Empire had fallen into decline and become a thing reserved for the history books, Portsmouth had remained a centre for oceanic trade and naval power. That had not changed with the advent of space travel, and soon it had become the main customs port for all products coming in and out of the United Kingdom. And Britannica Storage, one of the largest warehouses on the planet, was where it was all kept, a complex measuring three square miles of crates, shelves and lifting equipment.

"According to the blueprints I consulted, there are two main blocks to this warehouse," Kullas said. "We'll split up and search through each of them."

"Is that necessarily a good idea?" Tali asked as she looked around the empty atrium they had stepped into, a low ceilinged room with several vacant desks around the walls. "We can't be sure if the enemy are all dealt with."

"Titus had some marines run a sweep through here," Kullas replied. "They found nothing and assured him it was quite safe. It's just a pity that there are no records of exactly where these things are being kept; the last sets of data I can find on the crates suggests that they were being unloaded, and it is plausible that the workers fled before they could be sorted and stacked."

"Alright," Tali said. "Where do you want me?"

"The western side," Kullas said. "I will cover the east. Be sure to keep in vox contact, Apprentice Adept."

"I thought you said it was safe," Tali said.

"_Quite_ safe," Kullas replied. "Probability dictates at least some danger will be present at all times, not just from Reaper forces ambushing us; there could be falling shelves, unsound floors or ceilings or exposed electrical wiring."

"Keelah Se'lai," Tali muttered quietly, flicking an ear back beneath her suit in exasperation. "No, that'll be fine. I'll go start looking."

"Very well," Kullas said. "Omnissah Vult, Tali."

He headed through the doorway that lead into the Eastern side of the Britannica Storage complex, while Tali headed to the West, flicking on her omnitool. So far, Kullas had recovered the serial code for the crates, but apparently they hadn't been given a location. She would have to try and scan crates and work out where they might be from the codes she found.

Despite herself, the place unnerved her. It was empty, too empty, unmanned lifting machinery, pieces of litter and old paper scattered about the floor. Here and there were the occasional hole in the roof, a sign of combat, but the there was something about the abandoned detritus of people in flight that she found deeply unsettling. Unconsciously, her hand slunk to the handle of the staff.

She pressed a few buttons on her omnitool, scanning a crate for the chip built into it. The serial code was fed back into the device, and she shook her head. Nothing near the number she wanted. There was a pattern, she could see from a few other scans on some random crates, numbers and letters increasing the further down she went, but there was a long gap between those of the crates here and the ones she wanted; there must be millions of crates in the warehouse.

Tali pressed a few buttons, before the holographic avatar of Chiktikka Vas Paus flickered into being. She tapped commands into the drone via her omnitool, and it sped away, scanning for the crate she wanted.

She took another door than the one her drone did, heading into a separate warehouse. She glanced over to the scans that Chiktikka was sending her, seeing if it was getting closer, before crouching down next to another crate and scanning it herself. Not much closer than the drone was, at the moment.

She opened another door, and into the open air, entering a large courtyard occupied by four shuttle pads. A single hauler shuttle, half unloaded, lay on one of the pads, while part of the roof had been crushed by the fall of another, the metal around it blackened by now extinct flames.

She pressed open another door and stepped inside, searching onwards.

#

It had been waiting for approximately twenty four of this planet's hours. Trapped by the fall of the ceiling, result of an airstrike from one of the harvest's planes, it had been unable to move without considerable. A small group of harvest had passed through the place some time later, but they were not near enough to be targets; leaving its confines would have made far too much noise, alerted them, and their flight would have been too easy.

Now, its sensors detected movement. One it identified as Astartes, the semi-mechanical one, but fortunately for it it was on the far side of the complex, too far away to be a threat. The other, however, was smaller, more slight, one of the enviro-suit clad members of the harvest, and it was getting close to it.

It twitched a leg, a small runnel of rubble falling away from the limb, ready to move.

#

The room ahead of her was blocked by a small avalanche of debris, walls having collapsed in on themselves. Tali looked over it for a moment, before turning back the way she came.

There was a crumbling noise from behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see what it was. And it was then that she saw the metallic leg rising from the slope of rubble before.

She managed to curse; "Keelah se'lai!" before the Reaper stalk tank exploded out of the rubble.

She sped through the door, nearly skidding on the floor as she ran, stumbling slightly as she built up speed into a run. The wall behind her exploded as the stalk tank burst through, legs skittering on the floor, denting the metal as they found purchase.

Tali sped around a corner as the thing thundered after her, its mass scattering shelves and boxes. They began to tip overhead, crates sliding and falling from the ledges above her, and one thudded in front of her before she vaulted over it.

A mass of collapsed shelving between her and her ambusher, she took the nearest door. It led her into a corridor of some kind, walls lined with snaking pipes. The young Quarian was about to continue her desperate sprint before she noticed a warning notice along one pipe; "Coolant. Warning, risk of snap-freezing. Do not drill or puncture."

Hastily, she snatched a grenade from her belt, swapped a few dials around and clamped it to the pipe, calling up Chiktikka Vas Paus as she broke into a run.

"Stay here boy," she ordered the drone, rounding a corner and half-watching the video feed from it as she entered another room filled with shelves, trying to find another exit. On the video feed, she saw the stalk tank round the corner. It noticed Chiktikka and began to thunder towards it, and Tali pressed another button on her omnitool; the grenade attached to the pipe detonated, gouts of hyper-chilled coolant spraying across the machine, a thick layer of ice forming around it in moments.

Tali had bought herself a few precious seconds, and she did not intend to squander them, fleeing deeper into the complex in her bid to put as much space between herself and the stalk tank pursuing.

"Kullas," she called into the vox. "Kullas, it's Tali here. I've encountered an enemy stalk tank. I need your help, now."

"Say again, Apprentice Adept?" Kullas grated from the other end of the line. "You have encountered a horse flank? What in the name of the Omnissah does that mean?"

"A _stalk tank!_" Tali said again, almost shouting now. There was a crashing noise as the machine in question tore down a wall and several units of shelving, free of its prison of ice. "I need help!"

"There is too much interference on the line, Apprentice Adept," Kullas said. "I cannot comprehend what you are trying to say to me."

Tali cursed, before simply cutting the connection. Talking would slow her down, and slowing down would kill her.

She turned through another door, into a landing zone; the same or different, she didn't know, and didn't particularly care. She hurried up the stairs to one of the pads, to an empty shuttle above, hurriedly trying to work past the security systems with her omnitool, muttering a machine prayer despite herself. There was a crash as the stalk tank slammed through the doorway she had took, before she gained access to its systems. She clambered out of the shuttle as it began to lift off, the stalk tank noticing the noise, before she cut the engines and let the vehicle drop.

Metal crunched as the shuttle slammed down, and Tali peered over the edge of the platform to see the machine knocked to one side, hull dented and battered, the wreckage of the shuttle a twisted mess lying a few metres away. She paused at the edge of the platform, unsure of whether it still lived, before one of its weapon arms swivelled upwards and it fired.

She gave a yell of surprise as the beam punched a smoking hole scant inches away from her, scrambling away from the machine as it staggered to its feet. It fired again, Tali already running. A leap carried her across the gap between two of the landing pads, before she called up Chiktikka Vas Paus, the pinkish-purple drone drawing the thing's lethal beam fire while she hurried down a ladder. Through a door she went, while the stalk tank ripped her holographic drone from existence with a screaming shot from its beam weapons.

There was a shriek of bending metal as the thing crashed through the landing pads, implacable in its pursuit of her. The wall glowed red hot as it sliced through, before falling away with a stench of burnt metal, the stalk tank stepping through, scanning as it tried to find her.

It saw the Quarian on the far side of the room, hurriedly trying to bypass the locks on the door in front of her, and opened fire. She managed to throw herself flat as two wailing lances of crimson speared into the wall above her. One of them hit the door's control console, melting it into nothing, and she cursed viciously as scrambled to her feet, once more sending out her drone to distract her enemy. She took a dead run towards the only other way out of that wasn't blocked by the stalk tank, and whispered quiet thanks to whatever god was listening when she pressed the open button and is slid open.

She had entered some sort of processing room, conveyor belts snaking across its huge floor and cranes hanging overhead. She could probably drop something on the stalk tank, crush it, but first she needed to take out its barriers; that shuttle had battered them, but had not done enough to overwhelm them entirely.

She scrambled over a conveyor belt, breath becoming ragged and harsh in her throat, before she called out Chiktikka once more, ordering him towards the door. She needed time, and the stalk tank was not being generous in such a regard.

It smashed through the door, saw her drone and jabbed at it, the hologram flickering out of sight, before Tali sent a jolt of electricity into it from her omnitool in a bid to overload its shields. It did nothing but stun the machine for a split second, but it gave her enough time to duck behind a control console of some sort, out of its sight. She drew her halberd, and thumbed the activation stud, lightning crackling around its head. Muttering a prayer to the Ancestors, she levelled the blade, ducked round the corner of the console and charged.

It slammed through the thing's kinetic barriers, slicing into its frontal hull before it came to a halt, jammed fast. The machine jolted, throwing Tali aside into a stack of crates, and she yelled in pain as she felt something crack.

Ignoring the agony screaming in her chest, she forced herself upwards as the machine drunkenly stumbled to face her. She began to half run, half limp as she tried to avoid its aim, breath harsh and ragged in her throat. The machine raised its weapon arms, Tali's axe still embedded in its front, and tried to fire.

There was a slight spark from beneath its circuitry, but the weapons failed to do anything. A glance over Tali's shoulder showed the stalk tank limping after her, stumbling clumsily, and she laughed bitterly despite the pain roaring in her midriff; the crippled chasing the crippled.

Clutching her side with one hand, she made it to the console she was aiming for; she had no idea what it did, but judging from the levers and buttons that studded its surface it would hopefully allow her to control the cranes and conveyor belts above her head.

Whoever had evacuated their station here had clearly been in too much of a hurry to log out, and it was the work of the moment to call up a holographic guide to the cranes above her head. Swiftly, she picked one of the many boxes overhead, a particularly hefty one, and her three fingered hands moved deftly across the control panel, guiding it overhead.

The stalk tank dragged itself further forwards, crashing clumsily through crates and conveyor belts, pushing itself closer with each step. It reached her as Tali bought the desired create just overhead, raising its now defunct weapon arms to smash her away from the console.

"Omnissah vult, Bosh'tet," she muttered, before ordering the grav-crane to release.

It crashed down upon the machine, crushing its hull with its sheer weight, the armour collapsed in upon itself, sparking gently. One of its legs twitched spasmodically, ignorant or in denial of its destruction, but that was all the signs of life the stalk tank was displaying.

Tali gasped in pain as she slowly climbed down the steps, limping slightly as the adrenaline faded, hunched over to avoid the pain in her side. One handed, she gripped the handle of her cog-axe and pulled, other leg braced against the stalk tanks crushed hull, grunting as she tore it free. Then she noticed the label written on the side of the crate, and despite herself, she laughed.

It was a crate of glass lenses, measurement 2E.


	30. Chapter 29

Chapter 29-Armament

"General Suvat," Malleus said as the old Turian stepped off the landing craft. "It is good to see you again."

The two shook hands, the Turian's three talons dwarfed by Malleus' immense gauntlet, before Malleus looked out over the small fleet of aircraft that were crossing the sea towards them.

"This is all of the Heirarchy's forces?" he asked, quietly impressed. "How did you manage to get enough planes for this?"

"We had to commandeer civilian craft," Deniel replied. "But there enough to get us all down in one go. I suppose it's a good thing all the Krogans' landers double as boarding craft, means they can launch all their ships in one go."

"Aye," Malleus said, as more ships began to touch down on the spaceport they were using as a landing zone, as well as the large fields around it. Overhead, fighter jets of various builds screamed, leaving trails of vapour in the skies as they circled, vigilant for any incoming air threat. "How long until they disembark?"

"All of them?" Deniel asked. "A few hours, at least."

"Fast enough," Malleus said. "I intend to cross the channel as swiftly we can, so we will most likely begin the landing as soon as our troops are able to embark the boats."

"So this is the second Normandy, then?" Deniel asked with a slight smile.

"Hmm? No, I won't just be landing there. We've got several major port towns, all along Britain's coastline, and we'll be launching multiple assaults along there," Malleus said. "A large attack should give us the opportunity to establish beachheads at multiple locations, and press against the Reapers from there."

Deniel nodded.

"Should work," he said. "You got a map of this assault?"

Malleus nodded, gesturing for Deniel to follow. They entered one of the prefabricated command centres that lay clustered around the landing pad, Malleus having to duck as he entered the small metal building, before he walked to the console at the centre, entered a few commands via his omnitool and called up the map.

"The port towns we're assaulting from are Hastings, Dover, Bournemouth and Portsmouth," Malleus said, the highlighted towns flashing as he tapped them with his omni-tool. "We have three targets; Calais, Caen and Dieppe. The Heirarchy's forces will be moving on Dieppe, while the Asari and Krogan will be taking Caen. The Alliance and myself will assault Calais."

Deniel nodded, before pointing something out on the map.

"What's that?" he asked.

"What's what?"

"That, there," Deniel said, reading the title of what he had highlighted. "The Channel Tunnel."

He pressed a few buttons, zooming in on the object in question, before looking along the small road that seemed to run beneath the sea towards Calais.

"A tunnel?" Malleus asked. "Where does that put us?"

"Just a mile or so behind their lines," Deniel said. "You could use that to flank the enemy."

"Indeed," Malleus said. "A small strike force behind their lines, that should be enough to weaken their defences, allow the Alliance to advance with less difficulty."

"Your team?" the Turian asked.

"Most likely," Malleus said. "They're good at what they do."

Malleus looked out at the landing field, before he said; "Where's General Mehriss?"

"Coordinating the rear with Wrex," Deniel said. "She should be here in a couple of hours."

Malleus nodded.

"Will you need help with the landing?"

"I've got it covered," the Turian replied, shaking his quilled head.

"Good," Malleus said. "I have some business to deal with concerning Kullas. It's a matter of great import to the war effort. It could aid us a great deal."

Deniel's beak and mandibles broke into a Turian's equivalent of a smile, before he said; "If it's any tech like your power armour, I won't keep you."

Malleus nodded his thanks to the Turian, before stepping off to where he knew Kullas' workshop was. It was a short walk, one that brought him to the Alliance's vehicle storage. Most of the tanks, jeeps and APCs that populated it had gone, already repaired, only the worst damaged ones remaining. Kullas was working on a Mako, a servo arm holding it aloft while the other arms of his servo harness worked on the inner workings of the vehicle, repairing the shattered steering mechanism that impeded the vehicle's operation. Tali was next to him, using the axe Kullas had given her as a staff, her stance slightly hunched.

"Forge Priest," Malleus called as he entered. "I hear you have good news for me."

"Ah, Brother Captain," Kullas said, looking up from his work. "I do indeed. We obtained the components I was searching for and I am pleased to announce that I have indeed finished constructing the prototype model of the lasrifle."

"_We_ obtained them?" Tali asked. "You weren't the one was chased by a stalk tank and had your ribs broken."

"I suppose the lion's share of the credit goes to you, Apprentice Adept," Kullas said. "It was indeed you who found the lenses."

"I had heard as much," Malleus said. "Well done, Tali. How are your ribs doing?"

"I've been better," Tali said. "Not to mention that I picked up something nasty after I had to come out of my suit to have my ribs treated. But I could be worse; that brace that the doctors hooked me up with means I can still walk, though I won't be in any shape to fight for at least eight weeks."

"I thought you might not be," Malleus said. "I was considering transferring you to Asia to work on Yamzarat Machtoro after this; no offense, but you aren't much use on the front."

"None taken," Tali said. "Besides, I'd like to see him again."

"In any case," Kullas said. "The lasrifle, perhaps?"

"Yes, let's see it," Malleus said.

The Forge priest gently lowered the APC to rest on its suspension, before gesturing for Malleus to follow. He went to his workbench, before picking it up and announcing; "Here we have it; the Mark 1 Lokarim-Zorah Pattern lasrifle."

It was quite simply a block of metal, before Kullas thumbed an activation hologram glowing on its side and it unfolded, a sight springing from its back, pistol grip and holster extending and barrel sliding telescopically from the front, almost identical to an Imperial lasrifle.

"I took a few design cues from the weaponry of this galaxy," Kullas said, before adding in High Gothic; "Blasphemous as it is, you must admit it is somewhat elegant."

"Isn't such a thing an affront to the Divine Template?" Malleus asked in the same tongue.

"That is a matter still up for debate by the Omniphilosophers," Kullas said. "Besides, we stand idle while xenos fight alongside humans and even cooperate with them, and as far as I have come to understand this situation, we are already condemned as any of the traitor legions."

"We are not those oathbreakers," Malleus spat, glaring at the Forge Priest.

"I am aware, brother captain, and do not mistake me, I do not condemn your commands; I understand your reasons behind them," Kullas replied. "But the fact is that we have reneged upon our duties to the Emperor and that does, technically, make us traitors. It is a strange thought. Besides, I have given up on us ever returning home; probability dictates that our arrival here was nigh-impossible and expecting to be able to come back to the Imperium is a false hope."

Malleus shrugged.

"It is one way of putting it, I suppose," he said. "I still fully intend to bring the Emperor to this benighted galaxy and purge it clean of xenos taint."

"And I shall be behind you every step of the way," Kullas said. "Though if I am entirely honest there are some xenos members of the team that I have become somewhat attached to."

"Tali?"

"My personal opinions on such things are irrelevant," Kullas said. "I know my duty and I will do it. Duty above all, I am aware, Brother Captain."

Malleus nodded.

"I am still here," Tali said. "Stop talking in another language, I hate it when you do that."

"Alright, let me see this lasrifle," Malleus said, taking the weapon as the Forge Priest handed it to him. He pushed it into his shoulder, sighting down its length, before squeezing the trigger and snapping a perfect hole into the opposite wall. There a series of loud curses from several of the Alliance engineers, and more than one emerged from their work holding pistols. Malleus chuckled.

"Stand down," he said, lowering the rifle and raising a hand. "No need for alarm."

"Accurate, and powerful," he said, turning to Kullas. "Good."

"I made it to the very best of my abilities," Kullas said. "Our troops will need to be well armed, after all."

Malleus nodded.

"I'll order Miranda to try and arrange some meetings with various arms manufacturers," he said. "See how quickly we can get them mass produced and distributed."

"Indeed," Kullas said. "I have a full set of blueprints and designs ready, including ones for longlas and laspistol variants. I have also begun work on adapting the mass-effect based designs to be incorporated into lascannons; I imagine they would be of particular use against the Reapers' titan platforms."

"You've outdone yourself once more, brother," Malleus said, smiling warmly. "Once we have them in product the Reaper won't stand a chance."

"I hope not," Kullas said. "Though if we do lose, I imagine that there would be almost zero probability of the Reapers being defeated by any later galactic species."

"You think we'd lose this?"

"Having analysed probability, and accounted for the effect that these lasweapons will have on it, I believe that victory is currently more likely than not, unless the Reapers enact some ploy to catch us off guard. However, we still do not have one hundred percent certainty that we will emerge victorious."

Tali shot him a somewhat despairing look from behind the Forge Priest, which Malleus returned for a moment.

"Well, whatever improves our chances," the Brother Captain said. "Anyway, I'll need to find Miranda, see what I can do about distribution."

"Very well, brother captain," Kullas said. "Ave Omnissah."

"Imperator Vult," Malleus replied, stepping away, flicking his vox on. "Operative Lawson, it's Malleus here. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you Malleus," Miranda replied. "I was just hoping to talk to you."

"A fortunate coincidence," Malleus said. "I was planning to do the same. Where are you?"

"Heading to the command centre," Miranda said. "I got a message from the Illusive Man; he wants to speak to you and me, about something important."

"He wouldn't tell you?" Malleus asked, as he began to head towards the command centre.

"The command centre's comm. channels are more secure than these. He said he'd tell us there."

"Very well," Malleus said. "I'll see you in a moment, Miranda."

He met the Cerberus Operative at the entrance to one of the command, the dark haired woman watching the landing craft of the Alliance's xenos allies touch down. She nodded a greeting to the hulking Astartes as he approached, before stepping in.

"Log us in, would you?" she asked. "I don't have the access. I'll get us a line to him."

Malleus leant over the projected keyboard, power armoured fingers tapping against the holographic letters as he keyed in his authorisation codes, before he nodded to Miranda. She leant forwards, typing in several more passcodes, before leaning to the microphone and saying in a clear voice; "Operative Miranda Lawson. Hotel oscar lima bravo oscar romeo November."

For a moment, there was silence, before an image of the Illusive Man flickered into view on the holo-display.

"I see you two made it," he said. "Good."

Malleus nodded, before he said; "What do you need to talk to me about?"

"I have some good news for you," the Illusive Man said, leaning back in his chair. "Our scientists have been continuing to work on the tech we've dug up from the Collector base, and they managed to develop something with the help of some blueprints sent by Kullas."

"Is that so?" Malleus said. "What have you been working on?"

"See for yourself," the Illusive Man said. "I believe they landed just a few minutes ago. Captain?"

"I hear you, sir," another voice crackled across the radio.

"Make your presence known."

"Understood, sir."

The door behind them slid open for a moment, and for a second Malleus thought he saw an Astartes enter the room.

The similarities were superficial, he realised, the stature far too short and thin to be that of one of the Emperor's angels. What had had him fooled was the armour the man wore; battleplate not dissimilar to power armour, heavy, bulky stuff, but more angular and with an overlarge gorget, greyish white in colour.

"Captain Franz Rathskeller, reporting for duty," the man said, voice muffled by the speakers built into his helmet. "Ready to serve whenever and wherever you want us, Malleus Scandarum."

Malleus nodded approvingly, before saying to the Illusive Man; "I'm impressed. Very much so. Captain, how many do you have at your command."

"One hundred and twenty, sir," Rathskeller replied smartly.

"I took the very best from Cerberus' paramilitary cells," the Illusive Man said. "Each one was selected for this mission personally, and the armour enhances their abilities further. Rathskeller is one of my best combat agents, after Miranda."

"Really?" Malleus asked, glancing to Miranda. "Why wasn't she put in charge, then?"

"She was busy with you on Earth," the Illusive Man replied. "I wasn't sure whether you needed her for anything or not."

"A fair point," Malleus said. "No, but I don't, not at this moment. She is a skilled commander and cunning tactician, she'll be in charge. Is there any possibility she can be outfitted with another suit?"

"That can be done," Rathskeller said.

"Good," Malleus said. "What exactly are these people capable of? You mentioned Kullas helped you, and this is obviously based off our power armour, so what can they do?"

"The suits have a direct neural link to the wearer," the Illusive Man said. "They enhance strength, speed and endurance, provide detailed tactical data and have feeds of medigel and painkillers in case of injuries. As well as this, they offer protection that can't be matched; we're using reverse engineered shields and metals for the armour."

The Brother Captain nodded.

"I approve," he said. "In fact, I reckon I will have a use for them soon enough."

"There is one last thing that remains to be dealt with," the Illusive Man said. "I had them in mind as a strike force under your direct command; they're not linked to the Alliance in any way, and I was hoping you might us them to accompany you into combat. And I thought it would only be appropriate for you to name them."

"I already have the fine men and women of Thunder One for the role of bodyguards and combat companions," Malleus said. "But as for their name, I can think of something. In the Imperium, there are an elite group of mortal soldiers I fought alongside more than once, men born on the world of Cadia and selected to act as their shock troops, outfitted in finely made armour and armed with some of the Imperium's deadliest weapons, trained to be the best of the best, loyal, faithful, deadly and completely fearless."

"We are those things, sir," Rathskeller said. "We will fight to the death for humanity."

Malleus smiled, nodding slowly.

"I approve," he said. "I name you Kasrkin, vanguard of mankind."

He turned to Miranda, before saying; "And you, of course, are to be their leader. Are you up to such a thing?"

She nodded.

"Good," Malleus said, extending a hand, which she took and shook. "Congratulations, Lady Castellan Lawson."


	31. Chapter 30

Chapter 30-Not One Step

He was wet, cold, and unless he was very careful, Alliance Commissar Michael Hunter was going to lose his cap to the wind.

Skimming just a metre above the surface of the English Channel, the landing craft was but one of the swarm of craft that made up the Alliance spearhead against France. Flying low, below radar range, the spray kicked up by the vehicles was hellish, and his greatcoat and cap were saturated. He envied the soldiers with him, all of whom had sensibly elected to don their helmets and enjoy the sealed environments of their body armour, but for the sake of maintaining a heroic image it seemed that helmets weren't part of a commissar's uniform.

He removed his cap, holding it firm against the wind that whistled against it through the craft's side door, itching the top of his shaved head, stubble and water forming a mix that irritated him immensely. He rubbed the tips of his armoured fingers against the top with a slight grimace of annoyance; the smoothed fingertips of his armour were nowhere near as good at scratching as nails were.

He placed the cap back on, watching as the holographic HUD built into its rim flicked down to feed him tactical data, shifting his Avenger assault rifle in his grip as he hunched onto the bench.

The readout showed only a few minutes to landing, and, holding onto his cap, he dared lean out of the edge of the dropship, squinting against the near-impenetrable haze of spray thrown up by its VTOL engines. He could see the lumpen silhouette of the French coastline rising from the waters ahead, a greyish beach and the silhouettes of buildings beyond them.

"We're approaching the LZ," he called back into the hold of the dropship. "Ready up."

The soldiers behind him loaded weapons, activated kinetic barriers or muttered a quiet prayer, while the aircraft swept lower towards Calais.

Beams of coruscating red light sprang from the town as the dug in Reaper forces finally noticed the Alliance, punching through the shielding of gunships and landing craft and evaporating hulls. Flame roared from the craft as they span madly downwards, smashing into the sea in a welter of shrapnel and spray, casting the vehicles' passengers into the embrace of the waters.

In return, the Alliance's aircraft screamed overhead, bombers and their escorts, watched over by fighter-bomber planes. Ordnance was rained upon the city as they dropped their payloads, flames and explosions roaring across the city in great gouts of fire and dust. Smoke, thick, black and choking, rose to the sky, mixing with the grey cloud hanging overhead, while Reaper anti-air fire tore Alliance planes downwards even as the human craft rained death upon the foe.

Michael pulled his head back from the awesome spectacle of raw ordnance as a crimson beam arced dangerously close to his skull, spots of light dancing across his vision as his eyes tried to cope with the sudden brightness. He grabbed the support harness as the pilot swerved the craft away, the VTOL engines screaming as they powered it to the side.

Weaponry from the gunships escorting the transport craft opened fire, sending missiles and heavy duty cannon rounds streaking into the Reaper lines ahead, chewing up concrete and metal buildings and throwing up splashes of spray. Michael gave a yell of vicious delight as he saw a fusion-generator go up in a blue mushroom cloud, the explosion powerful enough to blast apart he faint figures of a Reaper squad next to it.

"That's how we do it!" he shouted back to the soldiers behind him, and got a cheer in response. "We're touching down in thirty seconds, be ready to give 'em more!"

There was another cheer, a few soldiers raising fists in triumph, before he felt the gunship jolt and a beam of blindingly bright crimson sliced through the hull next to him, evaporating the soldiers in the seats further down.

The next thing he knew, the world was spinning, he was falling, tumbling out of the VTOL and to the water below.

He hit with bone shattering force.

And he was lucky. Had he hit the water head first, he would have died for certain, his neck snapped by the high velocity impact instantaneously. Instead, Michael's boots had slammed into the water, his kinetic barriers taking the worst of it and reducing what could have been an ankle-shattering impact into something that merely jolted his feet and winded him.

He toppled into the water, flailing helplessly as he fought the urge to breathe in, trying to kick upwards. He was a fit young man, his time in the Alliance Marines consisting of a routine of obstacles courses, ten mile runs, gym sessions and training exercises, but the weight of his armour and his saturated greatcoat was pulling him down faster than he could cope. Desperately, he jabbed a button on the neck of his armour, before a rebreather mask flipped over his mouth, venting the water there before replacing it with a supply of air. Adrenaline-laced oxygen flooding his lungs and filling him with energy, Michael kicked upwards and pushed towards the surface. He surfaced next to his cap, which was bobbing gently up and down on the water, and grinned before he took it with one hand and placed it on his head; if there was ever any proof of prudence making its influence upon the world felt, it was that. The shore was only a hundred metres away, and despite the fact that weapons fire was strafing across the sand, many of the dropships that had tried to land were smoking ruins and the dead were already piled high across its front, he felt strangely optimistic as he struck out towards it. After all, compared to a legs-only five hundred metre swim in one of the Alliance's swimming pools whilst holding two heavy bricks, doing just one hundred in mere body armour and a sodden greatcoat was child's play.

His arrival became, once the battle was over, something of a legend amongst the Alliance forces.

From the sea he came, striding from the waters as if he had simply gone for a morning swim in ignorance of the firefight raging all around him, before he noticed where he may be needed; a squad of Alliance soldiers ducked behind the wreckage of a carrier. There were others taking shelter against the rounds strobing across the beach, the advance completely stalled, and he had a feeling it would be up to him to get it moving. He picked up his pace as fire came towards him, reaching the intended group of soldiers, hearing it patter against the wreckage around him.

"What's the situation?" he asked immediately, disregarding any sort of military decorum; he didn't have the time for it.

"We're pinned down by an enemy machine gun nest," the sergeant at their front replied over the noise of battle. "The squad's rocket launcher was taken out, and they've got an anti-air emplacement in there meaning we can't get gunship support. We've got no way of bringing it down."

Michael shook his head.

"Yes you do," he said. "That damn rocket launcher."

"Commissar, sir, there's no way we can get close to it," the sergeant protested. "Anyone who does will be torn apart."

"Grow a pair, sergeant," Michael replied. "If you're not getting it, I will. Where is it?"

"Over there," the soldier replied, pointing towards a prone figure lying in bloodied sand, the bulky shape of the heavy weapon held in a limp hand.

"Alright then," Michael said. "Let me show you who we do this."

He began to run.

His heart was pounding in his chest, he felt light headed and part of him was terrified. He had no idea exactly why was doing this, and when he later thought back on it he would never be quite sure, but part of him remembered what was required of him as a commissar.

_Your role will be a simple one; you will inspire._

Those were the words he remembered from that initial brief; inspire. Show courage Lead from the front.

_You will inspire through fear and through heroism; you shall be first into the enemy's guns, last out from evacuations zones, ask no quarter and allow no retreat._

Despite the fact that he was about to hurl himself headlong into enemy machine gun fire, Michael Hunter smiled. It was all so damn simple.

_You will not be loved, but you will be respected, and revered as some of the greatest heroes that the Alliance shall know._

Indeed, when he thought about all that was required of him as an Alliance Commissar, it could all be narrowed down to three words.

Be a hero.

Michael Hunter ran into the teeth of their guns, and he realised it had been the easiest thing he had ever had to face up to doing.

He ran, even as the merciless fire of the machine guns tore at his feet. A round zipped past his ear, another ripping a hole in the flapping fabric of his greatcoat, before he reached the weapon. He stooped, slowing only a moment to grab the heavy weapon before hefting it into his shoulder and emptying its magazine into the enemy position up the beach even as he sidestepped away from their fire.

The guided missiles hit home, exploding in their midst, taking out the weapons in a spectacular blast of flame as the weaspons' power cores exploded. Michael cast the heavy weapon aside, drew his pistol, his only weapon not lost in his fall from the dropship, and looked to the soldiers around him.

"Soldiers of the Alliance!" he yelled over the noise of battle. "We have our opening! CHARGE!"

He was the first in, charging up the sand, blood pounding in his veins as weapons fire from the Reaper soldiers dug in at the shorefront slammed around him. The soldiers trapped on that part of the beach charged with him, the threat of machine gun fire now gone, yelling curses as they sprinted towards the foe. Some were cut down by small arms fire, but the soldiers with them returned, mass driver rounds screaming back up. Much of it was inaccurate, aim thrown by pace they were going at, but its sheer volume meant the enemy were hit, the rounds wearing down kinetic barriers or punching through armour.

Michael remained unharmed, miraculously, reaching the city's tidal defences and sprinting up the steps in the concrete wall that allowed him access to the rest of the city. A Reaper soldier standing at the top received an entire magazine from his pistol to its head, its point blank range enough to punch past its shielding, and Michael knocked it to the ground with a jab from his elbow. Hastily, he reloaded before his enemy could recover, firing point blank into its helmeted head, before flicking the radio on.

"Alliance Command, this is Commissar Michael Hunter," Michael called into it. "I've succeeded in establishing a beachhead, and need reinforcements and gunship support so we can expand."

"Understood, Commissar Hunter," came the reply. "We're sending birds your way."

"Acknowledged, Command," Michael said. "Commissar Hunter out."

He cut the radio as a round slammed against his shields, pistol up and blazing at the offending enemy on instinct. The soldiers who had followed him shot with him, opening fire on the squad of Reaper infantry that had stepped out of the streets before them. The enemy's own heavy duty rifles blazed, cutting soldiers down, and several Alliance Marines were about to run to cover before Michael roared; "Do not run! Not one step back! NOT ONE STEP BACK!"

Another shot hit his shields, even as his pistol blazed, and the soldiers around him stood firm as they gunned down the enemy that dared fire upon their commissar, overwhelming its shields and armour with their sheer volume of firepower.

More joined them, flooding up the steps, while above gunships swept in, volleys of missiles and chaingun fire tearing across the already wartorn city. The Reaper squad were overwhelmed by the number of soldiers they were facing against, fifty against ten, torn down in moments. Yet more soldiers of the Alliance hurried up the steps behind them, Alliance numbers swelling further, and Michael quickly barked out orders, sending Alliance soldiers to flank the enemy further along the shorefront, expand their beachhead and allow yet more of their men into the fight.

"The rest of you," he said, slamming a fresh thermal clip into his pistol. "You're with me. We're going to war!"


	32. Chapter 31

Chapter 31-Hounds of Hades

The mag-lev train rattled as it thundered down the rails laid through the Channel Tunnel, noise amplified to a deafening thunder as it bounced off the concrete surrounding it. Wind howled at the occupants within, one hundred and twenty Kasrkin and their Lady Castellan, an elite team of individuals assembled through the combined efforts of Cerberus and Malleus Scandarum, and six angels.

Despite the fact that she had tied it in a bun to keep it out of her eyes during combat, the gale force winds caused by the train's reckless speed had already ripped Miranda's hair out of the elastic band holding it in place, and the way that it was whipping around her face was getting on her nerves. She held up a hand, looking at it as she flexed the gauntlet that guarded her fingers, inspecting the armour she wore. It felt strange, weighing heavily on her shoulders yet surprisingly light everywhere else, powered joints compensating for the eighty kilograms of alloys, servos, computer systems and kinetic barrier generators that was wrapped around her. Not to mention the neural interface wire sliding beneath the skin of the small of her back, where it plugged into her spinal cord, was beginning to get on her nerves.

"Still getting used to the armour, Lady Castellan?" Hullen asked from next to her. His immense assault cannon was half assembled, the marine calmly inspecting each barrel as he stood in the stripped down train carriage, oblivious to the jolting the wind was causing it.

"A bit," she said. "Don't quite know how to describe it."

"Like a much heavier second skin," Hullen replied. "That's how I've always thought of it. Believe me, you should have seen me when I got my Black Carapace and this suit of armour."

Miranda laughed slightly, before saying; "That armour's a pretty important thing for you Astartes, isn't it?"

Hullen nodded.

"Essential," he answered. "An Astartes without his armour is like a Krogan without his strength; pretty much worthless."

"Why not just take cover, then?"

"Pah, cover's for lesser men," Hullen grinned. "Astartes don't hide, Miranda, we stride."

"And what about guns big enough to go through your armour, then?"

"Then cover's useless anyway!"

Miranda laughed and shook her head.

"I get the feeling you're looking forward to this fight," she said.

"Of course I am," Hullen replied. Once again that infectious grin was on his face, but there was a somewhat bloodthirsty edge to it. "It's what I was made for. Where I belong. Everything is nice and simple there; I have my allies, and I have my enemies. I keep one lot alive, and tear the rest of them apart."

"One way of putting it, certainly," Miranda said.

The vox bead crackled into life, before Malleus' voice came down it; "Thirty seconds until we emerge. Make ready."

"Understood," Miranda called in, while the sergeants of the Kasrkin, the Astartes and the rest of the team also acknowledged.

Hullen slid the multiple barrels of his assault cannon onto the rest of the weapon, locking them in place before spinning them round to check they were working, muttering a prayer to the machine spirit. Faint sunlight could be seen on concrete walls as the train closed on the exit, and Hullen stepped towards one of the firepoints on the side of the stripped down, hastily armoured train carriages that was carrying them through the channel tunnel, flicking a button and sending the barrels of his weapon spinning into life, ready to fire the moment they emerged. Miranda hastily bunching her hair back up again, and slid her helmet on, pneumatic seals forming an independent atmosphere with a hiss.

The train continued to speed forward as it emerged from the open air, changing tracks under Kullas' guidance. It thundered forwards while the Kasrkin and the rest of the team took up fire positions in the hastily armoured carriages, scanning for danger as the train rose up the gentle slope that led into the tunnel. Up it went, breaking into the outskirts of the city, low-built suburban buildings that the train sped past as it did. From the rear carriages, there was the sound of servos whining as the heavy armour they had brought with them powered up, the Dreadnought sized Atlas mechs that Cerberus had constructed.

"We're not going to have much time," Hullen remarked from next to Miranda as she drew her rifle, readying her biotics.

"You think we'll get noticed?" she asked.

Hullen laughed.

"We're going through an enemy occupied city on a speeding mag-lev," he replied. "I give us a few more minutes before the noise starts, at most."

"Good point."

The train slid to a halt as it entered the centre of the city, the magnets keeping it suspended above the tracks deactivating slowly and lowering it to the ground. Already, some of the Kasrkin were disembarking, covering each other as they advanced up the steps of the trench, and Miranda flicked the radio bead in her armour on; "Kasrkin, move ahead and secure the streets around us; we need the Atlases to be able to disembark safely. Captain Rathskeller, I want you in the lead."

"Understood, Lady Castellan," came the reply. "Moving out."

"Where do you want me and my people, Lady Castellan?" Malleus asked across the radio.

"What?"

"You hold command of the Kasrkin," Malleus said. "And we're working in concert with you. I would have thought you might have a few ideas of what to do with us."

"I thought I was going to be moving with you," Miranda replied.

"Of course you wouldn't be," Malleus replied. "You're in command of the Kasrkin now, it would hardly be practical for you to also serve in my team."

"True," Miranda said slowly. "I suppose…I suppose I'm just used to working with the rest of you, that's all."

"I'm afraid those days are gone," Malleus said. "Now, your orders?"

"Have Kullas and Legion listen in on Alliance communications get us positions of enemy strength from those," Miranda said.

"What's to stop us from just asking them?" Malleus said.

"They'll be too confused," Miranda said. "Besides, those two can think at the speed of light."

"Good thinking, Lady Castellan," Malleus said. "Come, let us disembark. Hullen, keep an eye on her. You're on bodyguard duty for the moment."

"Understood," Hullen said. "Come then, Lady Castellan, let's go and see what the Reapers have in store for us."

As they climbed out, Hullen suddenly asked; "Is there something wrong?"

"I just feels strange, suddenly no longer being part of Malleus' little group," Miranda said. "Part of me expected to be with them until the end of the war. Strange to think that I might never end up going back to the Normandy."

"That's life, I suppose," Hullen said, scanning the deserted street before them. "We're clear, Brother Captain."

"I am aware," came a deep voice behind him. The two glanced round to see Malleus behind them, one hand resting on the pommel of his blade. He nodded back to a further exit. "Lady Castellan, what's the status on the Kasrkin?"

"Give me a minute," Miranda said. "Captain Rathskeller, report in."

"The streets are empty, Lady Castellan," Rathskeller replied across the radio. "Your orders?"

"Acknowledged, hold position," Miranda said. "Atlas crews, you're clear to disembark, understood? Good. Kullas, Legion, have you got any contact reports for me? Excellent. Send them to my omni-tool; I'll get us a location."

Behind the back of the Lady Castellan, the Astartes exchanged an approving nod.

"She's doing well," Titus remarked across the vox in Gothic.

"Indeed," Kullas said. "Your faith in her command abilities were not misplaced."

"The Illusive Man had confidence in her," Malleus replied. "I trust his judgement."

"That's nice to hear," Miranda said. "Before you ask, I know your channels and I've had a translator program work out your language. People switching to another language to talk in private always annoyed me."

Malleus gave a bark of laughter, before saying; "Very well, Lady Castellan; we shall not mutter darkly behind your back again."

"Good," Miranda said. She flicked up a map on her omni-tool, before she said; "We've got a Commissar leading the push on eastern side of the port, and they seem to have established a strong beachhead, but Alliance forces are snarled up by defences on the harbour's west. We move up on the Boulevard De Général De Gaulle, and we can cut into their rear, destroy the defences."

"A good plan," Malleus said, nodding.

"All callsigns, on me," Miranda ordered. "Atlas Squadron, I want you at our fore. Alpha through to Delta, watch our flanks, Alpha and Bravo on our right, Charlie and Delta on the left. Eagle Section, you're rearguard. Captain Rathskeller, I want you with them. Malleus, you and your people are our centre, understood?"

"We'll hold it," Malleus said. "Jack, Samara, Cyralius, move among the Kasrkin, provide biotic and psychic support. Kullas, I want you with the Atlases, be ready to repair them if necessary."

Acknowledgements came through the radio as the Kasrkin moved to their positions, the five heavy Atlas mechs at the front. They were a small group, only at company strength, but they would tip the balance in the Alliance's favour, providing the Illusive Man's promises were true.

Their progress was swift, moving down one of the main roads of the city as they scanned for danger, the rifles of the Cerberus troopers scanning ahead along with the rocket launchers and machine guns of the heavily armoured Atlas walkers. The buildings they were moving through were empty, the enemy seeming to focus all their attention on the Alliance forces pressing against the beach. Good, they could work with that.

They encountered their first resistance across the a bridge over the Canal De Calais, open ground that lead to the final few city blocks before the shorefront. Here, the buildings had been hastily demolished, replaced by prefabricated bunkers and weapon emplacements facing out to sea.

The Atlas mechs were the first to fire, a barrage of missiles and heavy machine gun rounds blazing across the canal, scattering enemy troopers while the rest of the Kasrkin moved up to fight. Malleus could not help but applaud their discipline; instead of them all rushing to the firefight, they stayed their hand for Miranda's orders, the Lady Castellan ordering the teams on the right to engage, before ordering Charlie and Delta squads to flank round the Atlases. Eagle Squad missed the lion's share of combat, their role as a rearguard unchanged as they took cover.

"Malleus, I want you and your team to move towards them and hit them in the flank," Miranda ordered from her place behind the cover of the Atlas Mechs. "Get them up close, that's where you work best."

Next to her, one of the Kasrkin fell, enemy fire overwhelming his kinetic barriers and punching through the shoulder joint of his armour. Almost immediately the soldier next grabbed the man by the shoulders and dragged him out of harm's way as his comrades covered him, propping him up behind a pile of rubble before calling a medic. Even as the soldier covered his brother in arms with rifle fire, she overheard them talking, the healthy keeping the injured lucid and from falling into shock or unconciousness.

One of the Reapers' beam weapons fired, a crimson lance that scored across the air and into one of the Atlas mechs. The heavy duty shields around it flickered as the beam of mass-accelerator driven liquefied metal slammed into them, but whatever fell Reaper technology that powered the weapon was not quite enough; facing their own technology, reverse engineered by the brightest minds Cerberus had at its disposal, the shields were enough to disperse it before it could hit its thick armour. The return shot was a missile, the offending foe blasted apart by the anti tank weapon while the Atlas' machine gun stitched a line of rounds along the street. There was a humming noise as its shields powered up once more, the massive machine's weaponry still blazing regardless of the damage it had taken.

There was the sound of a roared prayer, and from the enemy's right flank Malleus and his team emerged. Even as Miranda ordered the Kasrkin to shift fire, to avoid any friendly fire incidents, she watched them in action, and realised just how deadly a unit they had been.

They moved in perfect concert, fighting together and exploiting one another's skills under Malleus' command, even though they most likely instinctively knew where to be. At the rear, Garrus, Legion and Hullen hung back, providing suppressive fire with sniper rifle and assault cannon. In the centre, Zaeed, Mordin, Jack, Cyralius and Samara supported with biotics, advanced tech attacks, psychic might or just good old rifle fire, and at the front were Grunt and the Astartes.

From Miranda's position, they were an awe-inspiring sight. Okeen fought in silence, the chainblade of his narthecium shrieking and screaming in fury as the apothecary punched and slashed his way through the foe. Alongside him, Kullas was a blur of whirling limbs as his servo harness punched and grappled foe, its reach covering those foes that his brothers could not get to so easily. Titus was a lethal whirlwind of violence, shotgun barking while the bayonet mounted on the weapon slashed and stabbed, while he ordered Urz onto any foe that escaped the deadly attentions of his blade. And at the front was Malleus.

He moved like lightning, hammer and blade whirling around him as he shredded the foe in a welter of shattered machinery and ruined armour. He bellowed prayers as he fought, benedictions to his Emperor that asked for His approval of Malleus' acts of pure, unadulterated carnage, purity seals fluttering with each movement. He was utterly unstoppable, tearing through the enemy as his weapons span in his hands, thunder hammer and power blade smiting them like divine judgement from some barbaric god.

It was the most terrifying thing Miranda had ever seen.

In less than a minute, the enemy had been torn apart, the sheer lethal power of Malleus' team enough to tear the enemy asunder. Swiftly, they moved to defensive positions, before across the radio Miranda heard; "You're safe to move up, Lady Kasrkin. Do so swiftly, our ingress has been noted."

Already, enemy weapons fire was zipping towards them, even as Samara threw up a biotic field to halt the worst of the rounds, Justicar's face a frown of concentration.

"Kasrkin, move up," Miranda ordered. "Give them support, and destroy those bunkers."

The Kasrkin moved, peeling around each other as they advanced up the shorefront. From the bunkers, more Reaper troops were moving, even as weapons fire from the Atlas squadron, the Kasrkin and Malleus' team hit them.

"We've got enemy stalk tanks incoming!" Malleus warned. "Get the Atlases over here, there's only so much Hullen's melta can do."

"Understood," Miranda said. "Atlas Squadron, we've got enemy armour incoming on Malleus' position, stalk tanks. Use the anti armour contingencies."

"Understood, Lady Castellan," the leader of Atlas Squadron said, a hint of Irish accent on his voice. "You want us over there quick, like?"

"Agreed," Miranda said. "Give them hell."

From the armoured backs of the Atlas Mechs, whining engines emerged, while Mass Effect field generators built into the great machines activated, reducing the twenty-ton mass of the vehicles to nothing more than a few hundredweights. From each 'hand' of the mechs, a massive falchion slid, forged of metallic alloys that had not yet been named, before power fields, designs provided by Kullas, activated and wreathed them in crackling energy. With a wailing scream, the engines ignited and sent the five walkers skywards.

From their position in the midst of combat with the Reaper forces, Malleus remarked; "God Emperor on Terra, Kullas, you really could have let me know that you were helping work on these. I could have really used them in London."

"They were still a work in progress at that point," Kullas replied as his plasma cutter and flamer blazed. "Besides, I thought you would appreciate the surprise."

As a stalk tank rounded a corner to face them, the lead pilot of Atlas Squadron, a Frank Lynch, crashed down in front of it, raised the falchions of his vehicle and stabbed. It crashed through the shields, sliced past armour and into the innards of the vehicle, before he tore them free and hacked down once more. Next to him, the rest of the Atlas Squadron landed. One laid into the Reaper soldiers that it had landed amongst with its great Falchions, scattering them like ninepins, while another switched to its ranged weapons, providing heavy fire support for Malleus' team and its fellows. The final assaulted the rear of the bunkers, tearing them open like tin cans, smashing the heavy weapon emplacements that had kept the Alliance soldiers pinned in place. Seeing their opening, they rushed from the wreckage and craters they had been forced to take shelter in, storming ahead now that the bunkers had been cleared with extreme prejudice.

Along the Reapers' rear, the Kasrkin came, lethally efficient discipline along with mechanically enhance combat skills making them a near unstoppable. They advanced as one cohesive unit, squads covering each other's movement and allowing them to proceed with a constant barrage of suppressive fire. Malleus could not help but nod his approval; these soldiers were easily on par with the Emperor's finest mortal soldiers.

He hefted his weapons into the air raising them high, before roaring out; "SOLDIERS OF THE ALLIANCE! WITH ME!"

Even as Reaper reinforcements began to press against them, the Alliance charged. They had a town to win.


	33. Chapter 32

Chapter 32-Promise

The landing shuttle touched down on the concrete landing strip with a gentle thud, engines whining as they powered down. With a hiss the, the door of the automated craft opened and, a bag with her belongings in it over her good shoulder, Tali stepped out, leaning on her halberd for support. She began to walk, slowly making her way across the tarmac of the Geth controlled spaceport, before a voice behind her called out; "Hey, Tali!"

She turned, before saying; "Andrew!"

The engineer grabbed her in a hug, before Tali gave a cry of pain.

"Oh god, yeah, the ribs. Crap, sorry," he winced. "Should've thought."

"It's fine," Tali said, rubbing her side gingerly. "Don't worry, I'll be alright."

"Uh, OK," Andrew said. "You want me to take your bag?"

"Yes please," Tali replied, slinging it off her shoulder. "Thanks."

"Not a problem," Andy said, swinging it onto his own. "Nice axe, by the way." 

Tali chuckled quietly.

"Thanks."

"C'mon, let me show you where Yamzarat Machtoro is," Andrew said as they set off again. "You've got to see some of the stuff he has inside that armour of his. It's amazing."

"Really?" Tali asked, the bottom of her halberd clacking against the tarmac as she walked. "What sort of things?"

"Oh man, I don't know where to start," Andrew said. "Like, you know how, if people had to make AIs, proper ones, not the stuff that controls LOKI mechs and the rest, the circuitry and stuff needed to store them would be about the size of a big room?"

Tali nodded. EDI's AI core wasn't one of the Normandy's biggest rooms, but the server stacks needed to store her programming went all the way into the Normandy's hull, below engineering, even. Part of her wondered what the Normandy was doing; she missed that ship.

"He doesn't have that," Andrew said. "He's got some quantum looping or layering system or something, something way ahead of our time, and you know how big it is?"

"Surprise me," Tali replied.

"Smaller than this bag," Andrew answered triumphantly. "Size of my forearm, in fact. That small."

"Wow," Tali said. "You serious?"

"Dead serious," Andrew said. "Honestly, that's not all; his engines, his generators, everything about him is unique. It's amazing."

"I want to see this," Tali said. "It sounds pretty interesting."

"Really interesting," Andrew said. "Believe me, working on him beats fixing Sommes any day. Not to mention that you generally can't hold a conversation with an Alliance tank."

Tali laughed quietly, before she said; "Thanks for coming to pick me up, by the way."

"Hey, not a problem," Andrew said. "Though I wasn't sure whether I should; I thought a lone Quarian like yourself would probably feel completely at ease in the middle of an army of Geth."

"Oh yeah, I would've felt absolutely fine," she said as they left the landing strip and into the buildings of the rest of the space terminal. A Colossus stalked past them, along with a squad of troopers, and the machines nodded a greeting to them as they passed. Andrew waved back, and Tali returned the greeting to them slightly awkwardly.

"What are the Geth like?" she asked quietly.

"They're not bad," Andrew replied. "They're a bit, I don't know, robotic, a bad word to use, I know, but they're nice enough. Very polite, or at least the ones that can speak are."

"I see," Tali said.

"Look, if you're worried about the whole Morning War thing, don't be," Andy said. "I was talking to them, and they don't mind you being here."

"Really?" Tali asked "What gave you that idea?"

"They said it," Andrew answered. "You know, explicitly said it. Besides, if they tried anything then Yamzarat Machtoro would rip them apart in a second."

"A strange thing to think," Tali said. "I'm used to them being enemies."

Andrew shrugged, before he said; "Anyway, we're here. The repair workshop of Yamzarat Machtoro."

He gestured towards the tall, huge hangar that they had arrived at, its massive doors open away from them. Tali followed as he walked round them, before he was greeted by a great, booming voice saying; "Andrew! Greetings!"

"Hey, Yamzarat Machtoro," Andrew said. "Guess who I've got with me."

"Little Quarian," the god machine rumbled warmly as Tali stepped round the hangar door. "It is good to see you again."

She had seen him before, but even so, he was an awe inspiring sight. Scaffold clung to his massive form, and it seemed like a chunk of his chest armour had been ripped away, the piping and circuitry beneath it exposed to open air.

"Hello Yamzarat Machtoro," Tali said as she stepped into the hangar, smiling beneath her helmet. "How are you?"

"Hah! I have been better, Little Quarian," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "But I survive."

"You want me to drop your stuff off, then we can have a bit of a tour," Andrew said. "Seriously, you'll want to see this."

"Alright, show me," Tali said.

Andrew slung her bag under a workbench where various tools were held, telling another of the engineers working on Yamzarat Machtoro to keep an eye on it, before climbing up a set of rungs that had slid from the armour of his foot and gesturing for Tali to follow. Carefully, she climbed with him, stowing her axe on her back. There was a slice of pain in her ribs, but she gritted her teeth, before she got to the top, leaning against the edge of the doorway that allowed her in before saying; "Sorry. My ribs. Going to have to take this slowly."

"Not to worry, Little Quarian," Yamzarat Machtoro said, his voice crackling over speakers inside the corridor they were in. "My original crew had means of transport far superior to mere ladders."

Something invisible grabbed her, gently pulling her off the floor to leave her hovering uncertainly in midair. Andy floated next to her, grinning, before he said; "Come on, Yamzarat Machtoro, let's show her around."

She could only compare the sense of wonderment she felt whilst looking around Yamzarat Machtoro's inner working to the sort of feeling she had when she had first explored the Normandy SR1. At it's time, the frigate had been the most advanced ship in Alliance space, years ahead of its time, and she should not help but marvel at the ingenuity of the sheer ingenuity and advanced nature of it design, something years ahead of its time. But Yamzarat Machtoro was advanced further still, a machine at least a century ahead of anything the Council races or the Geth could achieve.

As she floated through the corridors, she should not help but marvel at the machinery before her; reactors that fused Element Zero instead of merely breaking it down using fission for power (how did you fuse a heavy metal? She would have to find out more about that), the magnetic mechanisms behind his railgun that allowed the heavy slugs they fired to be fired at speeds far in excess of a solid slug shot whilst still retaining all of its lethal stopping power. The kinetic barrier generators that, even with several still burnt out and under repair, exploited the frequency based 'flickering' effect of the barriers to make them even more stronger and efficient through the use of positive interference. Everything about him simply took her breath away. How she longed to meet with one of the Askriit; there was no knowing what she could have learned from them.

Finally, Yamzarat Machtoro took them to his bridge, releasing his gravitic hold upon them to let them come to a gentle rest on the floor of the large room. Two triangular panels of glass were set at the far end of the white painted room, the windows that served as Yamzarat Machtoro's eyes, while computer consoles and screens lined the room and stood at the centre of the floor. At the very centre of the room was a raised chair, next to what looked to be various holo-projectors; if Tali were to guess, she would say that they sent the image directly in front of the chair. Carefully, she ran a hand along the arm of it, metal running against metal, before Yamzarat Machtoro said; "That was the direction throne of Lady Ivris Talmin. She had the honour of being my commander from my creation. The console by her chair there was the primary maintenance console of Lord Mechanist Akmon Ilmar; his lineage was instrumental in my construction."

"His family helped create you?" Tali asked.

"Indeed," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "I believe you would have liked him, Little Quarian; he was greatly talented and skilled man, and of excellent character. In fact, they both contributed DNA to the Descendant Project; I would not be surprised to discover that you share some genetic material with them."

"And now she's here to help you fix you up," Andrew remarked. "That would be a funny little coincidence."

"Indeed," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled. "Andrew, I have meant to ask; how much longer until the repairs are finished?"

"Another day or so," Andrew replied. "After that, we're good."

"Excellent!" Yamzarat Machtoro roared.

"You sound pleased about that," Tali said.

"Indeed," the god machine replied. "For glorious combat awaits us once the repairs are finished."

"You're probably not going to look forward to this next part," Andrew murmured from next to her.

"Tomorrow, little Quarian," Yamzarat Machtoro continued, oblivious to Andrew's quiet comment. "Tomorrow, as soon as I am readied, we march upon Beijing!"

#

He was weeping blood near constantly now.

His head pounded, a throbbing drumbeat that was timed with each pulse of his heart. Had been too much, that much he knew. He had pushed it too far, and now he was paying for it. He should have been more careful, been more considerate of his actions, but Malleus had needed his skills; the Reapers had no defence against Warpcraft, and he was too lethal an asset to simply leave behind. But he knew he should not have pushed it so far.

He found his way to Calais' beachfront, moving through jubilatory soldiers of the Alliance like a wraith, using his force staff as a support, ashen faced with rivulets of crimson running down each cheek. Soldiers called to him, as they had over the last few days, words of support or congratulation or asking for some sort of blessing, but they saw the blood leaking from his eyes and shied away. Nothing new there; the normal soldiery of the Imperium were delighted to see an Astartes, but as soon as they learned he was a psyker they became wary of him.

Carefully, he sat down on the concrete tidal defences by the beach, looking out towards the sea. It was a grey day, smoke making the overcast sky yet more monochrome, and the waves mirrored it, providing an uninspiring vista for the Alliance's transport boats to land their vehicles. He placed his staff down next to him, the length of adamantium and gold leaf resting on the concrete next to him. He placed a hand down next to it, before bringing it up a moment later with a cracking noise, a rime of psyfrost forming around the ceramite armour of his gauntlet.

Sommes and Makos rumbled over the greyish sands, moving up the ramps of tumbled rubble that had been made for them by Alliance engineers and into the streets of the city beyond, crews directed by various commanders and their subordinates. He could see faint dots of Alliance planes touching down on the landing strips of the Port D'Espace De Calais, and absent mindedly he tuned through the channels of his vox bead using his Black Carapace, listening to them coordinate the grounding of the planes to prepare them for reloading, refuelling and essential maintenance.

He felt tired. Not just the muscle fatigue that even his superhuman form experienced after prolonged combat, and by the Emperor the Reapers had made the Alliance fight hard for Calais, but this something else, a deep ache that gnawed at his very being. It weighed upon his eyelids and dragged at his mind, leaving him feeling sluggish and apathetic. He had only felt this weary a few times, after particularly long combats; the holding of Althen's Gap against the traitors of the Herexian VII, the retaking of Alsin's Hive Secundus from the Orks; the feeling of having worked long and hard. But in comparison to those battles, Calais had been easy. Yes, if the tears of crimson had not been enough of a clue that something was amiss, then this certainly was.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and opening his mind. Gently, he allowed his consciousness to expand outside the confines of his skull, slowly spreading across the world around him as he touched the minds of those around him. He felt everything around him, from the simple minds of the vermin that nested in the ruined building behind him to the complex web of worries and thoughts of the soldiers around him, even miniscule, barely detectable pseuodopsyches of the trillions of bacteria that lived on the stone, shore and pavement. He focussed, drawing back to himself to the centre, a blaze of mental power given to him by his unique abilities, skimming hundreds of tiny tidbits of psychic strength, too small to do any harm, off the top of the minds around him and drawing them into himself. It was a form of meditation unique to those with empathic abilities, but it helped focus his mind, restore his power and revitalise him just a little. But even that bought spikes of pain now. And he could feel something else as well, another mind more unique, one that he could pick out from a crowd of billions; not the diamond focus and fortitude of his brothers' minds, but instead a small, chaotic hurricane that whirled around itself in a storm of uncertainty, fear and barely controlled reactive anger. Jack.

At the very least, she was calmer than when he first met him.

"Cyril, I've been looking all over for you," he heard her say behind him. She pulled herself onto the concrete beside you, before saying; "Malleus couldn't get you on the radio, so he sent me to find you."

"Did he?" Cyril asked, a slightly absent tone to his voice. "Oh. I don't think I had it on the right frequency."

"OK," Jack said. "C'mon he's waiting for you…"

She trailed off as she saw the runnels of crimson down each of his eyes.

"Holy shit, Cyril," she murmured. "What is that?"

"I'm unsure," Cyralius replied. "It simply started happening after the battle."

"Your headache thing, isn't it?" Jack asked. "What's wrong, Cyril?"

"I have no idea," Cyralius replied. "I wish I knew, but I just don't."

He chuckled bitterly.

"Normally I enjoy a good riddle," he said.

Jack was silent for a moment, a look of worry on her face, before she said; "Shit. Have you told Malleus about this yet?"

"Not yet," Cyralius said. "I fear that the good Brother Captain has more than enough servitors in his training cage at the moment without me adding to them."

"What?"

"A saying of ours," Cyralius said. "Never mind."

"What the hell is it?" Jack muttered angrily. "Look, maybe just, I don't know, lay off your powers for a bit. Let them cool off. Maybe that'll help."

"Perhaps," Cyralius replied. "Though I fear what may come to be as a result of this.

"I thought you people weren't afraid of anything," Jack said, with a slight smile despite herself. "I remember that, in your little speech when you first came aboard the Normandy. Back when you were the only one able to speak English."

"We're not above concern or wariness," Cyralius replied. "We're brave, not blind fools. But, in all seriousness, I fear what may happen to me. To the rest of you more so."

"What do you mean?" Jack askd.

"Psykers are unstable, far more unstable than Biotics," Cyralius said. "You know that, I've told you. I don't know what this is, but whatever it is, what could happen to me may be dangerous. Very dangerous indeed."

"What sort of thing, Cyril?" Jack asked.

"You may be forced to kill me, Jack. God Emperor, I wish I did not have to say such a thing to you, but it is true," Cyralius said. "If I become…unstable then, believe me when I say that you will all be in great danger. I need you to promise me that, whatever happens, should I become dangerous, you will be able to kill me before I cause too much damage."

"Cyril, I can't-"

"Jack, please listen to me. If what I fear will come to pass does so then it will not be me you are killing. I will already be dead. It will be something else, wearing my body, wreaking destruction and devastation using my powers, but _it will not be me._ For your own safety, Jack, I will need you to put me down before it is too late."

"Please, Cyril, don't say that," Jack murmured. There was a dampness in her eyes. "There must be something you can do."

"I pray there is, Jack, but should the worst come to pass I need you to do this," Cyralius said. "Please; I don't say this to hurt you, I say this because I want you to be safe. God Emperor upon Terra, Jack, I don't want you harmed. I would slay the Dark Gods themselves if it meant that you would be ekpt safe, but if what I fear will happen then you will be in terrible danger. I need you to do this, not just for you but for me as well."

Jack took a breath, tears running down her cheeks, trying to wipe them away them with a hand.

"Shit, Cyril," she managed to say, wiping them away with an arm. "I don't…I don't… fuck!"

Gently, Cyril took her in his arms and held her close, Jack reaching over his shoulders and squeezing against him. He could feel the hot wetness of her tears against his neck, even as he held her close.

"Cyril, please don't do this to me," she murmured. "I can't lose you. I need you, Cyril. You…you looked out for me, you helped me. Everyone else said I was damaged goods and a lost cause, and all they wanted was my biotics, but you looked past that. You helped me when nobody else did. I…I love you, Cyril."

She drew back, looking him in the eyes despite the tears that clouded hers.

"Not like in a, in a 'I wanna marry you' way, Cyril, but you've been like a dad to me," she said, squeezing one of his gauntlets in her hands while he gently gripped back. "You were there for me. On Pragia, on the Normandy, watching my back on the old Reaper and on Earth. You taught me all this stuff, you helped me, and you never asked for anything back. I've never met anyone like you. You're the kindest person I've ever known, Cyril." 

"Thank you, Jack," Cyralius said. "I…I didn't know I meant so much to you. But please, Jack. I won't be that person anymore. I won't be the same Cyril who taught you those things, who protected you. I will be something else entirely, something terrible and unholy and hideous, something that will have no reservations about harming you. I fear what will happen to you should that come to pass. For your sake, not mine, I want you to promise me that, should such a thing happen, you will put me down before I can hurt you. I _need_ you to promise me."

Jack shook her head.

"Cyril, I can't-"

"Jack, you have to," Cyralius said firmly. "Please."

Jack sniffed slightly, before nodding.

"Alright Cyril," she said. "I promise."


	34. Chapter 33

Chapter 32-The Mountain

"It is good to be back," Malleus remarked as he, Kullas and Samara stepped off the landing shuttle and into the Normandy's hangar bay. "Almost feels like I've been away from home."

"It's true," Samara said. "I missed it, I'll admit."

"It is good to see you return, Malleus," EDI remarked over the ship's speakers. "I have the quarters for all of you prepared. It is a pleasure to have you back."

"You," Kullas muttered darkly as they stepped into the vessel's main elevator.

The ship had been scarred since he had last seen her, pockmarks and scratches cut into her dark hull. There was a silver sheen around her engines from where excess use without proper cleaning had left a buildup of eezo waste, while they were showing signs of the 'wilt' typical of being them being burnt for a long time without proper maintenance. Indeed, the Normandy had seen better days.

As he stepped onto the CIC, however, Malleus could not help but smile. He greeted the crew scattered around, before he pressed the comm. link to the cockpit and said; "Joker, get us to the Charon Relay."

"Gotcha, Captain. Good to have you back."

"It's good to be back. Now let's get going before the Reapers notice us."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Joker said. There was a tugging at Malleus' feet as the Normandy pulled away from Earth's gravity well, while the display in the CIC showed the altimeter slowly counting upwards. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Alliance Spaceways Flight to Noveria. For safety purposes, please stay in your seats until the seatbelt sign is switched off, and refrain from using electronic devices until informed by a member of the cabin crew. We would also like to remind you that this is a non smoking flight."

Malleus chuckled slightly as they pulled away, before saying; "Joker, activate the stealth systems; I want us to get through quietly."

"Already done, captain," EDI announced quietly. "I have our course plotted and estimate we should arrive at the relay in approximately thirty minutes."

"Good," Malleus said. "I'll be in the starboard observation deck, should you need me."

"Understood, Captain," EDI said as he stepped down from the command pulpit and into the lift.

It slid down and into the third deck of the Normandy. Various crew members of the ship were in the mess as he stepped in, and they greeted him warmly, reaching to shake his hand or embrace him. He left his trip to the observation deck where it was for the moment, instead talking to his crew for a minutes; he listened to Ken and Gabby bemoan the tiny amount of time and resources they had to repair the Normandy, and promised them he would allow them plenty of time to get some proper repairs done once they arrived on Noveria. He listened to the ship's stevedores relate the attempted boarding action by Reaper forces and how they had driven the attackers off, examined the enemy helmet they had taken from a fallen foe. Finally, he checked on whether Kelly was managing to sleep properly.

Conversations done, Malleus left, heading into starboard observation with a slight smile on his face. It was the same feeling that he had when he returned to the Faith's Fury after a long combat operation, the feeling of getting his feet aboard a familiar deck once more. He sighed quietly at the thought of the Fury being gone; he could have used the strike cruiser in this situation.

The door slid open, and he raised an eyebrow when he noticed Samara leaning on the rail before the armoured window.

"Justicar," he said by way of greeting. "I had forgotten that this is where you were staying."

"Malleus," she returned. "What were you doing here?"

"The same as you," the giant said. "Observing."

Samara nodded, before Malleus said; "If I may be blunt, Justicar, what are you doing here with me? This only requires the presence of Kullas and I."

"As I said on Earth 's surface, you are a prime target for assassination by the Reapers," Samara replied. "If that happens, then you may need biotic aid."

He glanced over to her, but her expression was unreadable, before he shrugged and left the matter there. Perhaps that was her real reason, and her code meant that she would hardly have some kind of dishonourable ulterior motive.

Silently, they looked out on the vista of space, on the orb of Terra as the Normandy pulled away from Mankind's cradle. The once pleasant looking orb of green and blue had been tinged a shade of dirty gray, the result of orbital bombardments and the immense battles that had raged across Asia, Africa and northwest Europe. Malleus murmured a quiet prayer and made the sign of the Aquila that mankind's most sacred world had been defiled in such a manner by the attention of the xenos machines they fought, before the orb pulled out of view.

The velvet dark of the Sol system was marred and turned dusty by the debris that surrounded it. Wreckage of all shapes and sizes passed them as the Normandy pulled towards the Charon Relay; some of it so small as to be barely visible to the eye, others chunks of hull large enough to be recognised as belonging to ship types made by various races, even lumps of onyx that could be seen to be wreckage from destroyed Reapers. Some were nearly whole ships, burned out hulks that kept their hulls intact despite the catastrophic internal damage.

Far away, there was a play of light, crimson and blue arcing in bright flashes only a few inches apart. Distant explosions, some battle far too far away to pick out clearly.

"I wonder who's winning," Samara murmured, while Malleus peered at it.

"I'm unsure, for the moment," he said. "By the looks of it, it appears to be a battleship, about half a dozen cruisers and several frigates, against one Reaper."

"You can tell that from here?" Samara asked, to which Malleus nodded.

"Gene-enhancement," he said, smiling slightly. "To an illegal level."

"'And what, pray, makes us criminal?'" Samara said quietly, shaking her head. "I honestly thought you were quite possibly the greatest abomination of illegal gene-tweaking I had ever encountered."

"True in some respects," Malleus said. "Though abomination is hardly the word I would use. Even so, duty calls me."

Samara raised an eyebrow at him, before he flicked the vox bead in his ear on with a mental impulse from his black carapace and said; "EDI, can you open a comm. link between the Normandy and those ships? Thank you."

"Greetings, Captain Alleen, this is Commander Scandarum of the Alliance here," he said. "I believe you dould perhaps use some advice. No, I'm not sure your current strategy will be particularly successful. Try diverting half of your cruisers to focus their fire on its upper shields; it will have to split its power output to deal with that, and it will leave it more vulnerable to your battleship's main gun. I see. Send some frigates to flank round its rear, then; it will be unable to target them, but will have to divert shield power. And for the Emperor's sake, captain, keep moving; those weapons will tear your ships apart in one shot. Keep that tactic up and you should be able to wear it down in time, provided you avoid its guns. Not a problem, Captain Alleen. Scandarum out."

"And so you kill a foe from thousands of miles away using only a few orders and your eyes," Samara remarked as he cut the connection. "You're quite a remarkable man, Malleus."

"So I've been told," the brother captain said. "Still, as you said, I'm an artist of the battlefield. And this war is my masterpiece."

Samara nodded.

"Then we shall just have to hope that you're as good at business negotiation as you are at combat," she said.

#

"Attention Normandy SR-2, this is Port Hanshan Docking Control. Our defence batteries have you painted as a target, and will fire if you fail to provide confirmation of identity."

"I guess the old Noverian welcome is just as warm as it was last time we came," Joker remarked from the pilot's chair, tapping the holographic controls before him as he had the Normandy fall into orbit. "EDI, you transmitting the codes?"

"Already done," EDI said.

From his place behind the pilot's chair, Malleus examined the ice-bound world before them with a critical eye, before his inspection was interrupted by the Normandy's radio announcing; "Your codes have been verified, Normandy SR-2. However, we cannot allow you berth."

Malleus leant forward and pressed the communications button, before saying; "Would you care to explain why, Port Hanshan docking control?"

"The last time an Alliance ship named the Normandy arrived on Noveria, there were a series of expensive incidents that raised awkward questions," came the explanation. "The board of executives of the Noveria Development Corporation added the Normandy to its list of no-berth ships following this development."

"I see," Malleus said. "If this is at all relevant, this is Malleus Scandarum, commander of Alliance forces on Terra. I have an appointment with Yuri Rasenkov concerning a matter vital to the war effort, and I have Council authority."

"Noveria is a privately chartered colony and is therefore not answerable to the Council, Commander Scandarum," the PHDC replied. "And while Mr Rasenkov is a valued investor and stockholder of the NDC, his authority does not supersede that of the board of executives."

"So I am not allowed berth?" Malleus asked.

"No you are not. Please vacate the planet's orbit, Commander Scandarum."

He cut the connection for a moment, before glancing back to Kullas as he waited by the Normandy's airlock.

"Kullas, EDI," he said. "Shut down the orbital defence grid, including kinetic barriers around Hanshan as well as the anti-orbital batteries."

There was a moment, before they said; "Done."

"Thank you," Malleus said, before activating the radio once more. "Port Hanshan docking control, it is Malleus Scandarum here again. You may be aware that you no longer have anti-orbital defences of any kind active."

"What the…how did you do that?"

"The Normandy's electronic warfare suite is far in advance of anything else this galaxy has to offer," Malleus said. "Now, the Normandy is armed with a pair of Thannix cannons, and we also have access to all of Noveria's computer systems. You are an immensely privileged individual, for it is up to you to dictate either whether we are allowed berth, or how more than three hundred thousand people will die. I am giving you the power of life and death here, my friend. It is a great responsibility."

"Wait, hold on-"

"Should you choose not to let us dock, you have five options as to how they will be killed," Malleus continued. "The first is the most obvious; I will fire the Thannix cannons, and will not stop doing so until Port Hanshan has been utterly destroyed from orbit. Secondly, I will order all heating systems to deactivate and have every window and airlock on the port open, freezing all within. Third, I can target specific points on the mountain that this city is built on and cause an avalanche that will be enough to bury all within. If such a thing is not to your taste, I will instead set all security systems to attack the inhabitants and see how long you last. Finally, I will quite simply keep the defences down, disable every ship and weapon you have and then alert all the pirates and slavers within the nearest one hundred thousand light years that Noveria is open for business and not looking likely to close any time soon. The choice is yours."

"I…I can't…I don't have the authority! Please!" the operator sounded on the verge of tears.

"This is Administrator Lorik Qui'in," another voice cut over the radio. "Docking bay two three two is open for you, Commander Scandarum, now please try not to destroy our Port."

"Thank you, Administrator Qui'in, I'm glad you saw sense," Malleus said. "I will have the defences reactivate once we are safely docked."

"And that is why the Mechanicus does not rely on easily hacked cogitators," Kullas remarked from his place by the airlock, before adding with a glare at EDI; "Nor abominable intelligences."

"Was that entirely necessary, Malleus?" Samara asked.

"Why not?" Malleus asked. "This place is a seething den of corruption, greed and arrogance, and they would do well to be reminded that all their money will not spare them from the Emperor's justice, should His ire be raised."

"And would you have fired?"

"If they had been mad enough not to take my threat seriously after I had disabled every defence they had then I cannot help but feel that I'd be doing the galactic gene-pool a favour by removing them from it," Malleus replied. "Administrator Qui'in would have been alerted the moment the defences were down, and he'd have no choice but to let us in."

"He's got a point," Joker said from the pilot's chair. The view from the windows had changed from a red of atmospheric entry to white as he guided it down, a vista of harsh, snow-capped peaks visible through them. "Those corporate assholes need taking down a peg, anyway."

The Normandy slid into the provided docking bay, and as Malleus, Samara and Kullas stepped free, the brother captain could not help but remark; "What an incredibly uninspiring place."

It was true; if Noveria's docking bays were anything to go by, then the rest of Port Hanshan would be the same vista of plain, unadorned angular concrete that the bay was made of.

"As soulless as its inhabitants," Samara said, to which Malleus nodded.

"Indeed," he said. "Come now, we've wasted enough time, Yuri Rasenkov will be waiting for us."

Kullas nodded, before they headed towards the exit. As they stepped through the blue-tinted glass of the doors, a small team of body armoured soldiers stood waiting for them; several humans as well as a few Turians, several of the humanoid LOKI mechs and a massive white YMIR machine, with both its weapon arms pointed at them. Malleus raised an eyebrow at the small army that stood before them, before he said; "It appears that I caused quite a stir."

"Port Hanshan security," the young woman at their front said. "Hand over your weapons, or you will be refused entry."

"I will not hand over my weapons to some mere mercenary, like yourself," Malleus replied. "Each one of these armaments were forged in the holy foundries of Lusita, made to be wielded by the Emperor's greatest warriors, and in His name I will not let some soldier for hire like yourself defile them with your unworthy touch."

"You will need to hand over your weapons," the girl stubbornly repeated, even though Malleus could practically smell the fear emanating from her. She stepped forwards, assault rifle raised, while the mercenaries around her raised their weapons. There was a whirring noise as the mechs prepared firing protocols, before Kullas buzzed something and they turned, armaments suddenly pointed towards their would be-controllers.

"Targeting protocol realignment complete," one of the machines said in a surprisingly feminine automated voice. "Awaiting kill order."

Malleus took the barrel of the merenary's rifle in one hand, growling; "Do not point that weapon at me, girl, or I will teach you precisely what a real warrior can do."

Her nerve, already stretched thin, broke, and she said; "Alright, you can pass."

"Good," Malleus said, releasing his grip on the rifle's barrel and letting the merc stumble back a pace. He could not help but feel faintly satisfied at the dents his fingers had left in the metal. He stepped through the far doors of the small security room, mercenaries shying away from him as he stepped past them, and ignoring the alarms that beeped as they detected weaponry, while the mechs powered down.

"I would not recommend reactivating those until you have looked at their programming first," Kullas said as he passed through them. "Otherwise the events may become somewhat messy."

As they stepped through the port, Malleus made sure that the mercenaries could hear the remark he directed to the other two.

"I am almost beginning to wish that I had simply nuked this place from orbit."

#

In the huge world of galactic business, Yuri Rasenkov was something of a legend. Born in July 2111 to a Moscow torn apart by sectarian violence, a young Yuri made money working for the arms dealers that were profiting from the long-raging civil war. With a talent for making weapons, he had patented his first pistol by the age of thirteen (which was then sold to both sides of the conflict), before making an immense profit with high-powered weaponry. By the age of twenty, he was a billionaire, selling weaponry to everyone from UN peacekeeping forces to terrorist groups, and when the Prothean caches upon Mars were discovered he was the very first human to design a mass-accelerator based weapon. He was infamous for being a larger than life playboy, even in his old age, and had made business-legend by turning up a board of executives meeting roaring drunk and then firing the man who had dared reprimand him.

Miranda had told him that she had arranged Malleus to meet with him because he likely the only CEO of galaxy's major arms companies that the Astartes would be able to sit through a meeting with without strangling, something which he appreciated. It was times like that when he knew exactly why the Illusive Man had had her assigned to the Normandy.

"So," Yuri Rasenkov said in a voice thickly painted with a Russian accent as he looked at the two giants and the Justicar in his office. "You are Malleus Scandarum."

He got up from behind his desk of antique mahogany, walking round it extending a hand to the brother captain.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Scandarum," he grinned. Malleus extended his own, the ceramite compounds of his bionic wrapping around the businessman's meaty paw.

"And you too, Mr Rasenkov," the brother captain replied. Already, he could not help but like the man before him; despite the fact that his curly hair was grey and his stomach protruded well over his belt, there was a steel in the man that would, he knew immediately, make him a very dangerous enemy. He could respect that.

"Please, please, call me Yuri," he replied, returning to his desk. "Excuse me sitting, by the way, but seventy four years of too much red meat and drink means I have not quite aged as well as I should have. Feel free to take a seat."

He sat back in his desk, before he said; "So, I heard that you were threatening to blow the entire port up before you arrived and then went and terrified a load of the guards."

"That's correct," Malleus said. "Though I'm surprised you heard that; by the fact that nobody was running around in a blind panic when I entered the port I guessed that Administrator Qui'in had kept that little altercation quiet, though that hardly failed to stop people from staring."

"Word gets to you when you're a powerful man like me," he said. "I like that though, and it reminds me of me; you don't take any shit from anybody. Anyone else here would have been all smiles and then would have called their lawyers and sued, but what do you do? You say that you're either let in or you nuke everyone from orbit, freeze them to death, make the security go crazy, crush us with an avalanche or let pirates in. No messing around, no legal stuff, just 'let me or I'll kill you.' Much better than the rest of the bastards here."

"You don't like them much?" Malleus asked.

"I hate them!" Yuri cried. "Men and women full of slime and lies, who smile at you while working out how they're going to stab you in the back, who are only in it for the money and wouldn't think twice betraying you if it made them more cash. You, on the other hand, you are different. You are an honest and honourable man, Malleus Scandarum, I can tell that from just meeting you now. Though I'll admit that from the radio conversation it seemed like somebody had pissed in your coffee."

"I don't like being away from the war," Malleus said. "Not at such an important time."

"Hah, a warrior all the time, eh?" Yuri asked. "You know what you make me think of? A medieval knight. You wear a great big suit of plate armour and carry a sword and a hammer, and you talk like you're from the Dark Ages."

"I don't recall using 'thee' or 'art' in any conversation so far," Malleus replied.

"No, but you speak very formally," Yuri replied. "Strangely so."

"It's just how we speak in the Imperium," Malleus said. "Out of interest, though, I was just wondering who's in that picture behind your desk. Your father?"

He nodded to the black and white hologram hovering about an inch above the wall to Yuri's left, one of a serious eyed young man staring straight at the camera.

"Him? No, that's not my father," Yuri said. "He was my inspiration; Alexander Kalashnikov, creator of the AK 47."

He stood from his desk, and picked up the assault rifle from the brackets on the wall next to it. It was a blocky, functional thing, made of dark metal with a wooden stock, surprisingly sturdy looking despite the fact that it was a pretty thin thing.

"This is the weapon in question," he said. "It has killed more people in human history than any other, and was used from 1947 all the way to the very end of solid slug weapons. This was one of the very first made; cost me nearly thirty million credits at auction, and I do not regret spending a single one."

He handed it to Malleus, who inspected it carefully. He knew about weapon craftsmanship, and despite the simplicity of the design before him he knew that it was a fine piece of artisanship he held.

"I made it my goal to create the next AK 47," Yuri said. "Something cheap to make and that would work well and would make me rich. And I got that with the Koyalov assault rifle." Here he nodded to another weapon on the walls of his office. "It is not the prettiest, nor the most accurate, but it is cheap, powerful and more reliable than anything else you can find in the galaxy."

"Cheap and reliable is what I want," Malleus said, carefully placing the rifle back into its place on the wall.

"Is that what you wanted to see me about?" Yuri asked. "The pretty young Miss Lawson who arranged this meeting said that it was important, about some kind of new weapon she wanted me to make, but wouldn't give any details. All very hush hush, I'll tell you but then I'll kill you stuff."

"As you said, it is a weapon," Malleus said. "The likes of which I can guarantee will change arms manufacturing forever. Rasenkov Materials has always been at the cutting edge, but rest assured that this will make your cutting edge an outright monomolecular one."

Yuri laughed at this, before saying; "Alright, let me see."

"Kullas," Malleus said. "You were the one who created this."

The Forge Priest nodded, before stepping forwards with the package he held.

"This," he said, laying it on the desk. "Is the Mark 1 Lokarim-Zorah Pattern Lasrifle."

He pressed an activation rune on its flank, and the weapon unfolded. Yuri leant over it carefully, inspecting it, murmuring; "Very nice, very nice indeed."

"It is accurate to five hundred metres, weighs only four kilograms, is able to work in hot, wet or frozen conditions, is able to have multiple attachments including bayonets, grenade launchers and various scopes, and the ammunition clips are able to be recharged using means such as domestic power supplies, heat and sunlight, as well as proper charge ports," Kullas explained.

"You said it was a 'lasrifle?'" Yuri asked. "What is that?"

"Laser weaponry," Malleus said.

Yuri's eyes widened, before he said; "Are you being serious? I thought that laser weapons had never been practical."

"Using your technology, yes," Kullas said. "However, the expertise of the Mechanicus makes producing such a weapon easy."

"I will have to test this," Yuri said. "Before I commit, you know. I cannot simply a weapon that won't work. How am I supposed to sell it?"

He stepped to another door in the edge of his office, and Malleus followed as Yuri explained; "My personal firing range; it is good for testing any new weapon designs my R and D team produce, and for any bad days."

The room was a long, thin one, with a few targets at the end, along with a rack of pistols, rifles and shotguns along the near wall. He pressed a few buttons, before a holographic target, a series of circles within circles, popped up at the end. He raised the weapon, squeezed the trigger, and with a crack the weapon fired, a blue beam spearing between barrel and the heart of the target in but an instant,. It winked out of existence, leaving a small bubbling circle on the concrete at the far wall.

Yuri quietly flicked the safety catch on, stepped to a tannoy by the door and said into it; "Vasiliev, it is your father. Get in here _right now_!"

"This," he said to the rest of them. "This is amazing. An actual laser weapon!"

"Indeed," Malleus said. "It is not the prettiest, nor the most accurate, but it is cheap, powerful and more reliable than anything else you can find in the galaxy."

"It is also available with pistol and sniper rifle variants," Kullas said. "I can give you the blueprints, but unfortunately no prototype model of those yet exists."

Yuri looked to Kullas, and then at Malleus, then back at Kullas, before saying; "Do you want a job with my company? I could fire my entire R and D department and just have you, and I would still lead the way on the weapons market."

"That will not be happening, I am afraid," Kullas said. "I have no interest in profit."

"If you are sure," Yuri said. "The offer will be open, believe me."

"Papa," another voice called in from the office. "What did you want me for?"

"In here, Vasiliev," Yuri said. "You will not believe what I have to show you."

"I hope this is important, papa," Vasiliev said as he headed towards the range. "I was trying to finalise the distribution deal with…"

The young man that stepped through the door looked at the two giants that stood in the office with wide-eyed awe through his spectacles, before he said; "You are Malleus Scandarum, aren't you?"

Malleus nodded, before Vasiliev extended a hand and said; "It is an honour to meet you, sir. I saw your speech on the holo, sir, it was amazing. Most amazing thing I have ever seen."

"Young Vasiliev rushed off to the nearest recruiting station straight away," Yuri said. "Too skinny, though, not fit enough; poor boy came back like a kicked puppy."

"I'm still helping though, Mr Scandarum, sir," Vasiliev said, executing a sort of awkward half bow out of sheer awestruck amazement. "I dropped costs on government contracts, and stepped up production on weapons, body armour and ammunition."

"He's draining his poor papa's company dry, but he's doing the right thing," Yuri said. "In any case, meet my son, Vasiliev. From my third wife; lucky boy got his father's brains and his cheating bitch of a mother's good looks. Bright boy, helps me run the company."

"I deal with the numbers mostly," Vasiliev said. "Papa isn't quite as sharp as he used to be, now he's getting old. But what was this, papa?"

Yuri grinned, before presenting the lasrifle to his son.

"Laser guns," he said. "Try it, go on."

Vasiliev took the weapon, sighting down it and fired. He looked at it in amazement before Yuri said; "I know, right son? Do you think we can produce it?"

"If that's what you want," Vasiliev said. "I don't know how quickly we can create a production line of these, though."

"I also have blueprints for the machinery needed to mass produce it," Kullas said. "It would simply need to be constructed and then hooked up to a conveyor belt."

Yuri looked at him again, before asking; "Are you sure you do not want to work for me? I can put a lot of zeros on your paycheque."

"Each weapon can be produced for a cost of three hundred credits, while each las charge clip costs twenty credits to make," Malleus said. "The Alliance is willing to pay three hundred and fifty for each weapon and thirty for each magazine."

"We'll want full fabrication rights for the weapons as well," Vasiliev said. "And the rights to sell these on to others."

"After the war is won," Malleus said. "Until then all weapons produced go to the Alliance and the Alliance only."

Vasiliev nodded.

"That is fair," he said. "It is a good deal, papa, and we can definitely make money from these weapons. Everyone will want one of these, and if we hold the initial patents on it then we'll be rich."

"That is true, my son," he said. "Are you showing these designs to other corporations?"

"No," Malleus said. "Unless, of course, you fail to provide."

"That will not be happening, my friend, no no," Yuri said.

"Then do we have a deal?" Malleus asked.

Yuri extended a hand, and smiled as Malleus shook it.

"Deal."


	35. Chapter 34

Chapter 34-Princeps

Every big gun in the Geth's immense army was firing, and they were setting the skies ablaze.

Batteries of missiles screamed through the air, choking the air with the contrails of smoke they left, while gobbets of high-mass plasma were hurled upwards to lazily splash down on the city below. Shell launching guns barked as they fired, sending ordnance screaming groundwards, explosions rippling across buildings as they landed. The city burned as gas mains were hit and incendiary shells landed, towering infernos rushing hungrily up the sides of massive skyscrapers and through squat slums alike, its insatiable appetite unquenched by its consumption of wood, steel and plastics alike.

Massive explosions rocked the city as Yamzarat Machtoro's railgun fired, annihilating great swathes of architecture and leaving nothing but smoking craters. The god machine was almost as noisy as the rest of the army combined, his cursing of the Reapers booming out across the battlefield over the sensory bombardment of the synthetics' barrage. In the dead tongue of the Askriit, he hurled insults as furiously as he hurled ordnance, the guttural tongue of his extinct people echoing over the firestorm.

Tali, Andrew and the rest of the Alliance crew called over to tend to the immense machine crowded around the two windows of Yamzarat Machtoro's cockpit as they watched the blazing holocaust before them. The sight was almost hypnotic as explosions of crimson and blue popped amongst the flames that roared across the city, swirling flames dancing across the ruined metropolic.

A glance at the tactical maps behind them showed Geth units were beginning to reach the borders of the city, the heavy duty Prime and Juggernaut units along with squads of Colossi leading the advance to clear the way for the Geth's lighter infantry. Orders sent across their neural network had the artillery fire shifted away to the far borders of the city, much of it slacking off to avoid blue on blue shots, and Andrew asked; "Is that it? Have we already beaten them?"

"This is just the prelude," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled. "Such a thing will be nowhere near enough to destroy the Almarach Ikmrin; we must finish them in glorious combat. To your positions, my crew."

Tali limped to the command throne at the centre of Yamzarat Machtoro's cockpit, climbing into the large chair that had not been occupied for more than three million years. She had been uncertain about taking command of the god machine, thinking she would not have enough experience, but when she had voiced her concerns Yamzarat Machtoro had replied; "There are none alive who have experience of commanding me, little Quarian. You are courageous and you are clever; Lady Ivris would find you a fitting successor, and so do I."

Now, as she sat in the throne, she felt uncomfortable, the chair too big for her, the tips of her two toed feet barely brushing the step up to it, the holographic controls before it feeling too far away. Whoever this Lady Ivris had been, she had certainly been a good deal taller than Tali was.

She wondered what Kullas would think, seeing her in charge of this massive god machine, a, what was the word he had used? A princeps, that was it. Come to think of it, what would Shephard have thought, that the young Quarian that he had rescued from the Shadow Broker's assassins on the Citadel was now one of the masterminds behind the deadliest infantry weapons in the galaxy and in command of a walking fortress. She could not have imagined the things happening to her when she first set out on her Pilgrimage; being embroiled in the apocalyptic war that raged around her, becoming privy to the knowledge of a machine cult that did not even exist yet or sitting in the command throne of a Lady Ivris Talmin Machtoro, a seat that was nearly four million years old.

She missed Shephard, she realised. Meeting him once more on Freedom's Progress, after two whole years thinking he was dead, that had been shocking, more than a little upsetting, but above all relieving. Then, after the Commander had rescued her from the disaster of a mission that had been Haestrom, she had been delighted to return to the Normandy SR-2, taking up her duties in engineering once more. And then had come Horizon. That hurt to remember; the terrifying swiftness of Harbinger's claws, Garrus' cursing as the Turian levelled his rifle and sent round after round into the head of the creature that had, once again, killed the Turian's closest friend, the barrage of biotics from Jack, Miranda and Jacob that had torn the Reaper's vessel apart, the snarling of Grunt as he covered them from the swarming foe. And Tali had just stood there, shocked into stillness, trying not to look and yet unable to tear her gaze away before Miranda had shook her shoulder and shouted at her to realign the damn GARDIANs and she realised then that the entire time she had been screaming and screaming and screaming…

The flicking of holograms before her snapped her from her reverie, and from beside her Andrew said; "There we go, they should be in reach more easily now. You all ready?"

Tali nodded, taking a deep breath and pushing the painful memories aside for another day.

"Is everyone in place?" she asked, to a chorus of agreement from the crew. "Good."

She raised a hand, pointing towards Beijing before ordering; "Yamzarat Machtoro, advance!"

"With pleasure, Lady Machtoro," Yamzarat Machtoro boomed. There was a rocking from within the cockpit as he stepped forwards, leaving a great two toed footprint from where it crushed the earth beneath it.

"A little overdramatic maybe, 'Lady Machtoro?'" Andrew asked from next to her as he looked over the readings displayed on the back of the command throne and on the consoles around him.

"Try commanding your own god machine and see how long you manage to go without wanting to give orders like that," Tali said.

Andrew shrugged at this, before saying; "Fair enough, I guess."

The cockpit shuddered as Yamzarat Machtoro's cannon opened fire, and the battle for Beijing was well and truly joined.

#

They stalked through the flames like a pack of wolves, their weapons held ready in their large metal hands, ignoring the fire that raged around them, their kinetic barriers dispersing the heat with ease. Ducking under doorframes too small to accommodate their twelve foot height, or simply stepping over fallen walls, Prime Squad three-seven-seven-two Gamma prepared to meet the foe head on.

They had barely crossed the ruined building line of Bejing's suburbs, moving only a few blocks in, before they came into contact with the enemy. The enemy trooper rounded the corner, raising its rifle the moment it saw them, before the Prime platforms fired as one. Their own weapons had been stolen from the Reaper fallen, and were far more powerful than the ones they had originally wielded. They ripped through the shielding and armour of the footsoldier in moments, sending it toppling to the ground as a smoking ruin, before a second appeared. This too was overwhelmed even as its fellows rushed around the corner to open fire on the Geth.

The Primes link to one another allowed them to fire in perfect coordination, one target picked and gunned down instantaneously before moving onto the next, the Geth standing in the open and relying on their shields to protect them. From the shoulders of one of the synthetics a pair of telescopic prongs slid upwards like antenna, before the Prime reached back and pulled it forwards, sighting down the miniaturised railgun that had been reverse engineered from the designs provided to them by Yamzarat Machtoro. The weapon screamed as the shot exploded in the enemy's midst, smashing half of the enemy squad apart in a single devastating blow.

The wall of a ruin at the far end of the street collapsed as a stalk tank thundered through, the Prime armed with the railgun dropping to one knee and swivelling to face it. Before the stalk tank could gain a target, it fired, the round punching through the shields of the machine and staggering it. A second shot slammed past its armour, stabbing a smoking hole into its frontal hull, before the Geth ejected the spent magazine of slugs and slammed a second one home. Somehow, the stalk tank did not die, and instead it lurched to its feet, a beam shot clumsily scything towards the Geth before a final wailing impact from the railgun ripped its innards apart and left it to spew smoke and flame form the holes punched into it.

The Primes began their advance, moving as the very speartip of the Geth forces. They moved implacably and with perfect coordination, the five intelligences that controlled the platforms linked together and allowing them to fight as one, each shot perfectly laid and done so with regard to the constant data fed to them by their squadmates and the neural network they were linked into. They were utterly relentless, gunning down the enemy as soon as they were encountered, their superior size and tactical skills allowing them to fight far better than their opponents. It was not that their foes were weak, far from it, but the Geth grew more intelligent the more of their fellows they were near, and in the presence of more than seventy million platforms and intelligences that were besieging Beijing they were at their intellectual peaks; they were able to outthink and outmanoeuvre their enemies on every level, brutally punishing the Reapers for daring to face them. Behind them came the rest of the Geth, finishing off the foe already badly mauled by the attention of the Prime squad and the others like it, pushing forwards into the city relentlessly. Yamzarat Machtoro stomped with them, a roaring god of war that devastated enemy forces with his railgun and cannon.

They fought through the suburbs, a seemingly unending tide of synthetics that assaulted like a great wave, reaching the skyscrapers that marked the vast city's centre. Prime Squad three-seven-seven-two Gamma were the first there, speeding across the open roadways as Reaper forces fired upon them from the destroyed windows of fire-gutted skyscrapers. They ducked behind cover at the corner of one of the buildings, preparing grenades to breach and storm the buildings ahead of them.

The clawed foot of an Almarach Machtoro tore through the wall and crushed three of them before they knew it was there. An auxiliary battery of machine guns attached to one leg opened up on a fourth Prime, tearing through its shields and armour in moments.

The last one alive, armed with its railgun quite calmly dropped to one knee, took aim and fired. The shot glanced off the shields of the colossal machine, and its last thought before the machine guns tore it apart was that it was unsure if its backup had completed correctly.

#

"Divert power from his engines," Tali ordered from her command throne, a response to an alert of lowered shield energy. "Yamzarat Machtoro, slow your pace; you're well in range of the enemy here."

"Understood, Lady Machtoro," the massive god machine rumbled in reply. "The Almarach Ikmrin shall pay nonetheless!"

She was good at this, better than she thought she would be; sitting here in Yamzarat Machtoro's command throne, she simply knew what to do, how to deal with the alerts and problems that came in as they arrived. Where he went on the field was determined by Yamzarat Machtoro himself, the god machine knowing far more of tactics than the Quarian, and instead she controlled how he worked, controlling the flow of power, the pressure of the fluid in his hydraulics that allowed him to move, diverting and chanelling kinetic barrier focus to defend against incoming fire without distracting him. As Yamzarat Machtoro had said, a crew was not necessary, but it made him far more deadly.

The god machine was unstoppable, guns blazing as he sent death roaring into the city. His cannon barked and thudded a constant stream of mass driver rounds, while his railgun shrieked as it hurled slugs into the city before him. He roared curses and oaths at his foes, the massive speakers sending them booming across the battlefield, and as he spat insults at the Reapers, Tali could not help but be reminded of the battle prayers Malleus and his brothers often spoke, though, perhaps, a great deal more vulgar.

"I am Yamzarat Machtoro!" the massive machine boomed as he fired. "I am the Lord of the Machtoro host, doom of the Pathogenarchy, bane of Almarach Ikmrin, leveller of cities! I return to rain death upon all of you, to bring about your end! I spit upon your weakling craven warriors, upon the whores that bore you as mewling spawn into the world, upon the weakling imitations of the Machtoro that you field! You are worms, fit only to be crushed underfoot!"

From between two skyscrapers, a colossus emerged to face him, four legs stabbing at the ground before it. The lense at its fore glowed balefully, and Tali channelled additional power to Yamzarat Machtoro's forward shields as it fired. The kinetic barriers held, while the target was secured by Loggat-Master Yukio; "Central lense targeted, use a shield piercer."

But the machine they were facing had already taken measures to prevent that, metal shutters sliding across the armoured glass.

"I cannot destroy its weapons now," Yamzarat Machtoro grumbled.

"Fire anyway," Yukio insisted. "If we force it shut it's as good as done."

"We've got another one coming in from the west," one of the other bridge crew members warned as the railgun fired, sending the room ashudder. "Dammit, two more from the east as well."

Tali looked at the tactical maps before her, large red circles indicating the presence of the enemy god machines, before she called in aerial footage from the flock of scout drones that circled above the field; she could see another three titan markers making their way towards them.

"They're trying to flank us," she said, diverting power into Yamzarat Machtoro's engines and shields with a few swift gestures. "Yamzarat Machtoro, into the buildings ahead; we won't be able to beat them in the open."

"Understood, Lady Zorah," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "What of the foe before us?"

"You've got legs, you're taller and you weigh two thousand tons," Tali said. "Squash it!"

The cockpit lurched as Yamzarat Machtoro stomped forwards, the god machine cackling over the speakers, concrete splitting beneath each footfall, houses crushed by every step, small geysers of water fountaining up from burst mains. The Reaper walker, seeming to realise his intent, gave up trying to open its damaged shutters and instead turned its auxiliary weapon batteries upon Yamzarat Machtoro, missiles and beam fire screaming towards him. They glanced against his shields, unable to penetrate them, and it tried to back away before the Askriit's massive machine reached it.

The elbow of his cannon arm, a massive drum that carried the weapon's ammunition, slammed down on the top of its hull, stumbling it and forcing it down, before a massive two-toed foot was raised and slammed down. The kinetic barriers and hull that guarded it were strong, but they were not enough to halt the brute power that was afforded by Yamzarat Machtoro's sheer tonnage; the shields flickered out after just a split second, and the hull was crushed with a scream of metal and a burst of flames and sparks, the enemy walker split open like an overripe fruit.

The crew gave a cheer as Yamzarat Machtoro's next great step carried them over the wreckage, taking them amongst the skyscrapers of the city. Weapons fire from enemy infantry around them assailed him from all angles, the foe concealed in the burned out wreckage of the skyscrapers, the secondary weapons mounted on his shoulders and torso swivelled into life; under the guidance of Fire-Master Parker the AA cannons, railguns and machine guns roared into life, rounds punching through concrete and enemies alike as Yamzarat Machtoro thudded between buildings.

"What is our next target, Lady Machtoro?" he asked Tali, who was flicking through the holograms before her.

"This one, over to the west," she said, pointing out her target. "The others are converging on our position, but we can pick that one off while it's alone."

"A wise plan," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled. He changed his direction, the cockpit lurching as he did so, leaning around a corner even as fire from his secondary batteries and the Reaper forces screamed to and fro across the streets. His intended target, also hunting for a god machine to slay, loomed from around the corner, before a railgun round from Yamzarat Machtoro slammed into it.

It shields held firm, and it turned to face them, the lense at its front flaring with light. Tali diverted power from engines and into Yamzarat Machtoro's shields, his cannon blazing as he fired it into the foe in an attempt to wear his foe's down. The beam weapon fired at the same time as the railgun, the porgramat round zipping past its shield and straight into the lense. Much of it disintegrated as it hit the stream of liquid metal that erupted from the Reaper's beam cannon, but enough got through to crack through the glass and into the weapon itself. The firing halted as the weapon was crippled, and flame blossomed from the wound, while the shutter slid closed to protect it from any second shot that would take advantage of the damage Yamzarat Machtoro had wrought.

Another railgun shot hit a leg joint, stumbling the thing, while his cannon continued to send high-explosive rounds slamming into its kinetic barriers, slowly but surely wearing them down. The enemy titan tried to limp towards him, before Tali ordered; "Standard round, don't bother with the shieldbreaker. Take them out."

"Firing, Lady Machtoro," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. The railgun shrieked as the round was fired off, the slug smashing into the kinetic barriers around the thing, explosions still blossoming off them from the cannon fire, and the foe stumbled, lurching into a skyscraper. Rubble rained atop it as it pulled itself free of the gutted building, before another round blasted against the barriers and they flickered out.

Cannon fire slammed into its armour, punching craters into the metal, before the railgun fired and tore a great chunk of its hull away. The engines beneath, vulnerable things of piping and pistons, were shattered by cannon rounds before the enemy machine collapsed onto the street, completely gutted.

The crew cheered as it fell to the ground, Yamzarat Machtoro stamping upon its metallic corpse, before Tali glanced at the tactical map before her and she gasped; "Keelah."

While Yamzarat Machtoro duelled with one, the other Almarach Machtoro had moved up on his position, and now they were right on top of them.


	36. Chapter 35

Chapter 35-Line in the Sand

"Alpha squad, we need cover!" Miranda yelled into the radio. "Repeat, Alpha section, covering fire is needed."

"That's not possible, Lady Castellan," came the reply, the channel laced with a background noise of static and gunfire. "We're under too heavy fire here."

Miranda cursed, before ordering; "Delta Squad, we're falling back to a better position. Move, move!"

Then she was running, adrenaline pounding in her veins as she set off at a sprint across the dead ground that the Reapers were firing upon, boots of her suit thudding against the ground. Her breath was ragged in her throat, eyes darting as she sought out the exit from the street; there a building they could take cover in, much better than the blasted away fountain in the centre of the square they had just been fighting in. A few enemy rounds rippled against her shields, almost stumbling her but somehow she kept upright, pounding forwards before she reached the door and scrambled to cover behind the smashed out window, below the wall.

She should not have this much energy, part of her was thinking even as she leaned over cover and emptied her magazine in to the enemy forces that were now pushing forwards as Kasrkin's Delta Squad were forced away. Even with her gene tweaked physique and powered armour, she should not have been able to keep going like this. But somehow, despite the fact that for four whole hours she had been fighting and fighting, right at the front lines, to try and hold the Reapers back from their landing zones, Miranda was still going, some heady cocktail of raw adrenaline, determination and fight-or-flight instincts pushing her past the limitations of her body and keeping her throwing bullets and biotics at the enemy.

"This is Lady Castellan Lawson to Atlas Squadron One," Miranda called into the radio once more as she ducked down, ejecting a red hot thermal clip from her rifle. "We need immediate support. Atlas Squadron One, do you read me?"

"We hear ya," came the reply from Atlas Squadron One's leader. "Delta fireteam are on their way."

There was a screaming from above, before two Atlas mechs crashed down in the square the Kasrkin had been forced to vacate. Machine guns and missile launchers roared into life, explosions blossoming across the square while bullet holes stitched their way through the cobbles. More of the foe swarmed into the square, even as the machines and Delta Squad poured fire into them.

From an opening into the square, a stalk tank lumbered forwards. One of the Atlas Mechs activated its jets and leapt away from it, upwards into the air in an effort to dodge it, but the aim of the Reaper machine was uncanny as it fired, slamming into the shields, tearing through them and melting past its heavily armoured cockpit. Engines still running but without a pilot, the Atlas careened wildly through midair before its smashed into a building in a spray of flame and shrapnel.

The other Atlas bulled forwards, falchions extending as it crashed through the Reaper infantry before it. The weapons slammed home in the hull of the tank before they were ripped free, shredding the stalk tank as the Atlas tore into the enemy footsoldiers around it. Yet more were coming, even as the Kasrkin and their walker fought stubbornly, enemies pouring into the square.

"This is Lady Castellan Lawson," Miranda called into the vox. "We need reinforcements, now! Repeat, we cannot hold our position, the enemy is too numerous."

"I'm sending what I can," came a familiar voice across the vox. "Hold firm, Miranda."

"Understood, Titus," Miranda replied. "We'll hold as long as we can."

She switched radio channels, before calling to Alpha Squad; "This is Lady Castellan Lawson. Pull back to my position immediately; yours is too exposed and you're at risk of getting cut off. I repeat, you are at risk of getting cut off, fall back on me asap!"

"Understood, Lady Castellan," Alpha Squad replied. "We're pulling back now."

That would get them some numbers, at least; might just be enough to drive off the foe.

She slammed a fresh thermal into her rifle and poked her head over the wall once more, squeezing the trigger even as return rounds zipped towards her. Several slammed into her shields, and so caught up was she in firing, that she failed to notice them wink out before one slammed directly into the eyepiece of her armour's helmet.

She screamed, toppling back as the world disappeared in a crimson haze. She grabbed uselessly at the hole punched into her armour, fumbling clumsily at the catches of her helmet before the hands of one of the men she commanded grabbed them and tore them free, the slipping under her shoulders and dragging her away from the worst of the enemy fire. Medi gel was injected into the wound to stem the bleeding before it was too severe, and her questing hand felt the chunk of bone and ear that had been ripped away from the right side of her skull as she touched the wound with shaking hand; it elicited a hiss of pain, but she realised then that she couldn't open that eye.

Through the red miasma of agony she could hear a roaring sound, two strangely familiar voices bellowing something in a language she knew but couldn't understand. She had heard it before, that she knew, many times, but with the fireburst of pain still exploding slowly against the side of her skull, and her eye gone, oh god, her eye, her eye was gone, she couldn't place it. Someone was shouting something about angels, before the medi-gel finally kicked in and the pain began to rapidly fade to a dull ache, the flow of blood staunched by the bacterial culture.

Somehow, she managed to pull herself to her feet, supported by one of the Kasrkin to see Titus and Hullen storming forwards into the square. Hullen's assault cannon was laying down a wall of fire, while Titus' shotgun was blazing as it gunned down more Reaper troops. From the far side of the square, Alpha Squad had moved up, laying downed disciplined volleys of rifle fire along with the rest of Delta, the Atlas firing with missile and machine gun. It was not enough to turn the tide, but it was enough to stem it, at least.

Titus rushed to their position as he noticed them, before saying; "Miranda, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Miranda managed. "Fine."

"We're pulling back," Titus said. "We're trying to consolidate our forces."

"With the enemy this close?" Miranda said. Why was she having this conversation now, part of her was wondering. She should be in pain, not discussing tactics! But another part of her was all business; her injury could wait, there were lives at stake here. "That's…that's impossible."

"You don't think I know that?" Titus asked. "Not as if we have much choice in the matter."

"If we're pulling back, we need to…slow them down, at least," Miranda said, her speech now coming at a little over a pained pant. "Send a unit to do that."

"Can't be done," Titus said. "Pretty much all of our forces along this flank are either getting pounded or are pulling back, and the Kasrkin are too valuable to sacrifice for this."

"Brother Sergeant," Hullen called over the vox. "I can hold this position longer than anyone else can, I'll do it."

"What did I just say about too valuable, Hullen," Titus replied. "You're worth as much as any of the Kasrkin, more so."

"I've got a big gun and power armour, that's all," Hullen replied. "Nothing I do that nobody else can't, but I can hold this position single handed and buy you the time you need. Hell, I've got the best chance of making it through this sort of thing alive out of anyone here. No time to argue, Titus, just fall back."

The banner bearer nodded, before saying to Miranda; "Sound a retreat. We'll fall back to the Avenue de Georges Guynemer."

"Understood," Miranda said, before calling into the radio; "All units, we're falling back. I repeat we're falling back. Form up on the Avenue de Georges Gunemer."

The Atlas mech was the last to go, firing off a vengeful volley of missile and machine gun fire at the Reapers that were massing into the square before it stomped back, buying the Kasrkin just a little more time. And then Hullen was alone with the foe.

His chaingun screamed into life, rounds spraying across the tightly packed foe as they entered the square. Several were felled, shields and armour overcome by the sheer volume of fire, but more returned, shots hammering against his power armour. Hullen moved, assault cannon still spinning as he strode across the square to throw off their fire, hoping to avoid the rounds that hammered towards him. There were dozens of the foe, he knew, more pouring in by the moment, and even that volume of fire might be enough to overwhelm his power armour.

He ducked behind a doorway as the barrels of his assault cannon began to glow red hot, cursing as rounds hammered into the wall before him and chewed viciously into metal walls. He muttered a beseechment to the weapon's machine spirit for it to perform well, before stepping out, lowering it, and firing.

Heavy calibre mass-driver rounds screamed through the air, streaks of blue so bright that they left afterimages burning on the retina. They hammered into shields, punching through armour as Hullen stood his ground and fired, ignoring the shots that slammed into his power armour. He roared in fury, the prayer that he yelled distorted to something barely recognisable as a benediction to a god, so mangled was it by his helmet's speakers and his righteous rage.

A stalk tank thundered into the streets, and Hullen threw himself out of the way as it fired, the lethal beams of its cannons brushing by his pauldron and causing the gold paint upon it to boil. He bulled forwards, smashing his way through the crush of Reaper soldiers as they pressed around him, ignoring the blows that hammered off his power armoured form. The stalk tank fired again, cutting through its own troops in an effort to hit the Astartes, but Hullen lurched to the left, crushing a soldier beneath his boots as he dodged the fire.

He reached it, drawing his melta one handed and fired, slicing through shields and melting armour in a split second, holstered it once more and raised his assault cannon. It whined into life, chattering as it spat rounds across the Reaper lines before him even as they pressed in, fire clattering against his power armour. He threw a grenade, the explosive blasting a hole in their ranks and he pressed against it, tearing a swathe through them even as they pressed in from all sides.

One grabbed at him, but he threw it off, raising his assault cannon to gun down another few before a rifle butt slammed into the side of his helmet and his vision exploded in a spray of grey static. Another tried to tackle him, the sudden shift in weight causing him to stumble, and a second hurled itself into his chest, throwing him to the ground.

The world disappeared into a dark blur of punches and kicks, and Hullen grunted in pain as he felt blows rain down atop him. He raised a hand in a vain effort to stop them, and snarled as he felt something sharp sliced between the joints of his chestplate and his belt and into his gut.

This was not how he was going to die. Not down on the ground, beaten to death like some enforcer who had been too weak to disperse an angry mob he had been sent to quell. He was a member of the Adeptus Astartes, a space marine, and Emperor damn it, if he was going to die today, he would die like one!

He gave a roar of fury, surging upwards against the crowd of the foe that pressed against him. He exploded out of their midst, screaming a prayer, physically throwing his enemies away before taking his assault cannon in hand and firing. At point blank range, the rounds shredded them, tearing them down before his melta was in hand and tearing a swathe through their packed ranks.

Hullen barrelled forwards, smashing enemies aside as he sought to reach open ground. He ignored the pain in his gut, his Larraman's Organ already causing the platelets to clot and the ravaged flesh being the process that would see it knit itself back together. It was painful, even with the anaesthetics that his power armour was administering, but the burning ache could wait. He had higher priorities.

From a side street another stalk tank emerged, and Hullen drew his melta as soon as his hyper-advanced eyesight picked it up. Before it could fire, he did, pure heat wailing from the barrel of his weapon in a blast of light that melted the packed ranks of enemy troops it cut through before hitting the stalk tank. It shields could not hold against such an assault, and its hull simply evaporated away, flames roaring into life from its innards.

He pushed free, breaking out of the crowd of enemies, and turned his assault cannon onto the press of the foe before him. It was time to fight.

They were relentless and utterly unyielding in their assault, constantly pressing against Hullen as he stood his ground with his great assault cannon. He roared prayers and oaths, cursing and spitting as the enemy pushed against him. He was immovable, felling hundreds as they tried to advance, power armour weathering the rain of rounds even as they slowly but surely stripped and chipped the paint away.

For almost an hour, he held them. Hundreds of times his chaingun overheated, and hundreds of times the Reaper forces pressed their opening to try and surge forward overwhelm him, only for him to drive them back. They tried to flank him, only to force him into their centre where he held a circle around himself, anything that tried to enter finding itself shredded. The shells of more than a dozen stalk tanks littered the square, victims to his melta, while the corpses of the enemy dead made a carpet of crushed and mangle onyx, the cobbles covered by bodies.

The ground shook, and Hullen grinned as he saw the immense form of a superstalker stomp between two of the skyscrapers that led into the square. Its lensed frontal hull came into view before it fired, and Hullen rolled to the left as an immense beam of burning crimson speared down to the earth and scythed across the ground towards him. He was an elusive target, despite his size, dodging and weaving through the crowd of enemies as the beam tracked him and vaporised its allies in its hunt, before it cut out.

"I'm that much trouble?" Hullen half growled, half panted. "I'm flattered."

He drew his melta, his other hand still firing his assault cannon, and fired, the beam scything into the armoured leg of the super stalker. The kinetic barriers flickered out, unable to withstand the wrath of one of the Imperium's most powerful anti-tank weapons, before the metal of the joint began to run liquid. The melta's fire cut out before it could burn through, but the damage had been done; deprived of servos, pistons and most of its outer shell, the armour around the joint sheared away and the super stalker toppled forwards.

A great cloud of dust covered his vision, something smashed into Hullen and sent him toppling to his feet. The back of his helmet slammed into the ground, and for a moment he saw black before a flare of pain in his right ankle pulled him back from any unconciousness. Good. Being killed while asleep would be humiliating.

He pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the mangled ceramite of his right foot and the grinding of bone in the tortured joint. He took his melta from where it lay scattered, his other hand still holding on to his assault cannon, and pulled himself to his feet to look eye-to-beam cannon with the super stalker.

The fall, now without the protection of its kinetic barriers, had buckled the armour around it, and sparks jumped to and fro from within the systems visible beneath the armoured glass. The lense twitched apathetically as it saw him move, damaged movement systems trying to make it aim, before Hullen raised his melta one last time and fired, blasting it into nothing.

Despite the clouds of dust thrown up by the massive machine's fall and the pile of rubble scattered about, more foes emerged from around him, rounds already slamming into his armour.

He grunted in pain as he limped backwards, up the ramp of the dead superstalker's ruined leg as the enemy advanced on him. He fired still, assault cannon chattering as it tore across the foe's lines, hoping to get to higher ground and force a chokepoint. He reached the top of the leg, onto the thing's massive hull, before cursing as he saw the ramps of rubble on either side of the thing, already being swarmed by the foe.

He found himself pushed back as he fought, assault cannon still blazing as he was forced along the thing's back to its tail. Raised above the battlefield, he made his stand, a wave of mass driver rounds screaming from his position as he fired. The footsoldiers of the Reapers swarmed all around him, fire hammering into him from all directions as they swarmed on the hull of the fallen God Machine and from below him, utterly relentless despite the volumes he killed. He drew his final grenade, assault cannon dropping down for a moment as he raised his arm to throw.

A screaming crimson beam tore through the air and melted through the ceramite, searing away augmented flesh. His hand and wrist dropped downwards, the grenade he held detonating in the ranks of the foe below, and Hullen roared in enraged agony as he turned his assault cannon upon the offending heavy weapons trooper, tearing it to the ground.

Before scar tissue could form, a round tore into the stump, burning through muscle. He gasped and stumbled backwards, before more fire poured into the damaged joint, pulverising bone. Blood poured from it, his Larraman's organ unable to cope with the sheer amount of trauma sustained in the wound, and he began to feel light headed, his twin hearts pumping yet more out heedless of the damage sustained.

His assault cannon was raised, and he stumbled back as he sent fire clumsily streaming across enemy ranks. He waved the stump of his arm in some kind of angry defiance at the foe, before a round tore through the pulverised flesh there, burned past the ceramic slabs of a ribcage he had and sliced into his heart.

An angel fell.

For a moment, his vision was dark, before he work, gasping back blood. He wrenched his helm off with his remaining hand, his grip on his assault cannon lost, and spat black viscera away. He drew his bolt pistol, knowing that he had just twenty shots and took aim.

Even with one of his hearts torn apart and his lungs filling with his own blood, his pistol arm was true, constant training and warfare, as well as the Emperor's holy sciences, granting him skill far beyond that of any mortal. His weapon barked as it sent self propelled shells into the foe, punching through armour and kinetic barriers alike and scattering chunks of machinery around him.

It felt good to know that he would die with a bolt weapon in his hands. There was something fitting about that idea, and he smiled in spite of the pain and the blood dribbling down the corner of his lip.

The final shell. One last foe to take down with it and then he would be down to his melta. He could scythe through some more, maybe a dozen, and then he could die, die satisfied that every last shot had been used in His service and used well.

The melta. The most powerful weapon they had, something that had fended of stalk tanks, the Collectors' constructs, had annihilated swathes of xenos, mutants and heretics. A weapon that, he realised, if it fell into the hands of the Reapers, would wreak untold destruction upon his allies. He could not allow such a thing to happen.

Quite calmly, he placed his bolt pistol across his chest and drew his melta. He placed it there, took his bolt pistol in hand as his foe used the break in fire to approach him. They surrounded him, weapons pointed at his skull as he pointed his bolt pistol at the ammo tank of his melta, and despite himself he laughed bitterly.

"Too afraid to kill me, eh?" he said hoarsely. "Well, I'm not. You're just some mindless xenos machines, but me? I'm the lightning of His wrath, the thunder of His hate, His will made flesh. And you? You are doomed."

He smiled as he pulled the trigger.


	37. Chapter 36

**As of this chapter, Angels of the Storm is now longer than Hammerhand and I don't think I'm anywhere near the end of it; I can't help but find that vaguely terrifying…**

Chapter 36-Leviathan

The two blades crashed together with a crackle of energy, sparks flashing along the holographic edges as they impacted. One of them, guided by a stronger arm, forced the other out of the wielder's grip and sent it sailing through the air before a cloud of biotic force caught it in midair and drew it back to block the next blow that swung down.

Its hilt swung down into its wielder's grip before it moved to halt a stab, deflecting it off to the left with the aid of a push of biotics before it swung round to slash into its opponent's open back. The target dodged back, bringing its blade up to counter, the slash upwards blocked by the biotically motivated sword swinging round to stop it. The enemy's weapon whirled around almost as soon as it clashed into it, seeking to exploit its wielder's open side before biotic forces grabbed the friendly blade and pushed it into the other with preternatural speed, pushing it away. Its hilt was taken in both hands, before it swung down towards the opponent's neck to land against it.

Samara's smile of triumph was dulled by the small electrical shock she could feel crackling against the bottom of her chin, even as her own training holo-blade rested gently on the side of Malleus' neck. There was a silence as Brother Captain and Justicar regarded each other for a moment, panting slightly from the exertion, before Malleus said; "A draw, then."

They stepped away from each other, and Samara said; "I thought Astartes were supposed to be master bladesmen."

"We are," Malleus said. "But we don't cheat, mind."

"Cheating? And I suppose that you were born with ceramic bones, an extra heart and the strength to punch through brick walls," she replied. "If I didn't use my biotics I wouldn't last against you for a moment."

Malleus shrugged before saying; "A fair point, Justicar. Another round? Perhaps we can break our tie."

"Later, maybe," Samara said, sitting down on one of the benches. "I'm afraid I lack your stamina. Fifteen rounds of solid sparring will do that to us mere mortals."

Malleus shrugged, before deactivating his own holoblade and stepping up to the weapon's rack that held his thunder hammer and power blade.

"Do you mind if I practice, then?" he asked.

"By all means," the Justicar replied. "I just need to catch my breath."

Malleus nodded, before calling; "EDI, four drones please, maximum lethality."

The holographic projectors that Kullas had installed into the walls of the Normandy's hangar flickered into life, four insubstantial foes appearing from thin air. Blades extended from long, spidery arms, and they fanned out to try and surround Malleus before the Brother Captain sprang into life, weapons whirring in his hands as he hit the first one before him like a hurricane.

Samara watched him as he parried and dodged around the blades that sliced towards him from all angles, moving with a speed and grace that she would have called impossible if it weren't for the fact that she had seen him utilise it dozens of times. His weapons were a blur as he fought the drones around him, and part of her still struggled to believe that someone so large could move with such swiftness. But that was the funny thing about Malleus and his brothers; she had seen bodybuilders before, people whose devotion to increasing muscle mass had made them misshapen and clumsy looking, and the Astartes were fitter and larger than they and yet somehow, as she watched him fight, she could not help but think of them as perfectly proportioned. Perhaps it was their height, or the broadness of their shoulders, but their muscles did not seem grotesquely swollen or misshapen.

"I must say, Samara," Malleus said as he stabbed his blade into the chest of one of the drones whilst blocking a slash from another with his thunder hammer. "I'm slightly surprised at the level of restraint you showed on Noveria."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Your code compels you to punish criminals," Malleus said. "And frankly that planet has almost as many of them as Omega; they just happen to dress up nicely."

"The Code isn't absolute," she said. "Sometimes it has to be put aside to serve the greater good; Yuri Rasenkov is hardly a saintly man, but he will do more good against the Reapers alive rather than dead. It hardly makes me happy about dealing with him, but I can see the reason behind it, and sometimes I have to put the Code behind duty and deal with the issue at hand. Has such a thing ever happened to you? Have you ever had contradicting demands of duty?"

This was enough to pause Malleus for a moment, and a glowing blue blade speared for his heart as he froze for a moment, suddenly distracted before he recovered himself and deflected it away, bringing his thunder hammer around to smash the offending drone into nothing.

"At times, yes," he replied slowly. "I have."

God Emperor damn it, he really hated talking to Samara sometimes. The damn xenos woman had a rather alarming talent for bringing up subjects that he would rather keep buried.

The two remaining drones before him suddenly winked out, and Malleus frowned before EDI announced; "Captain, I have just received a request for a high priority communiqué from Titus. He says that it requires your immediate attention."

"Alright, tell him I'm on my way to the bridge," Malleus said.

"Understood, captain," EDI replied.

Malleus pulled the shirt on that he used for when he went about the Normandy without his battleplate before heading to the lift. Samara followed before he ordered it up to the lift, and she said; "What do you think this is about?"

"No idea," Malleus said. "If it was something relevant to the war as a whole it would be General Suvat or Admiral Anderson contacting me, but this? I'm not sure. Have to wait and see."

The doors of the elevator slid open and Malleus stepped into the bridge, up to the podium that allowed him full view of the Normandy's holographic command console and Titus' image flicked up at its centre a moment later. He looked exhausted, with a cut across his brow and a layer of dirt dulling the shine of the white and gold power armour he wore.

"Malleus," he said, saluting. "I'm glad I was able to speak to you."

"Titus," Malleus replied, returning the salute. "You look like you've come straight from combat, brother."

"That would be because I have," Titus said. "And I'll need to return to it, soon enough, but I need to tell you this first."

"What is it?" Malleus asked.

"It's Hullen," Titus said. "He's dead."

There was a long silence, before Malleus said calmly; "How did this happen?"

"We had Reaper forces pushing on our north-eastern flank, and we needed to fall back and consolidate for a counterattack," Titus said. "We couldn't fall back without a vanguard, and we didn't have the numbers for one. So Hullen volunteered to hold their forces while we retreated."

"He made a good account of himself, I trust," Malleus said.

"Aye," Titus said. "He bought us the time we needed, and when we reached his position we found he had killed more than three hundred of their infantry, almost a dozen of their tanks and a superstalker. It's a death worthy of any Astartes."

"An impressive feat," Malleus said. "If they knew I've no doubt they'd already be telling legends of his death back on Polyphemus."

Titus nodded.

"He even blew up his melta rather than let it fall into enemy hands," he said. "He did the Sons proud."

"Aye," Malleus said. "How's morale, though? I can't imagine it would fare too well after this."

"Not good," Titus said. "Nobody really expected one of us to die, I don't think, and there's no way the troops are taking it well. Emily's playing up the heroism of the whole thing, but all she can really do is damage control. Not to mention we can hardly keep this quiet."

Malleus nodded sombrely at that. Titus was right; part of the reason why the soldiers of their unusual army found the Astartes so reassuring was the air of invulnerability they maintained. With the realisation they could die just like any other warrior that illusion was shattered, and it would not be easy to rebuild.

"Very well," he said. "I've sent the Normandy on a return course to Terra, so I'll be back at the front soon enough; I'll probably have to do another public address about this, though, to help morale."

"That might be a good idea," Titus said. "I'll see you soon, Malleus."

"And you, Titus," Malleus said. "Imperator Vult."

"In Gloria eternis, Brother Captain," Titus replied.

He cut the connection, and Malleus sighed, and shook his head.

"Sir?" Kelly asked from next to him. "Are you…?"

"I am fine," Malleus said. "Fetch Kullas, Yeoman Chambers. I will need to tell him of this."

#

"The shuttles are away, sarge," Constable Arnolds said. "Are we bugging out?"

Special Response Sergeant Iraxin shook his head, before the Turian said; "We can't do that just yet, son. We've got one more thing to do."

"Sarge?"

Iraxin gestured for the kid to follow, raising his rifle into his shoulder.

"We got the civvies out of this area, but communications are shot to hell and I don't know what's going on," he said as they headed out of the port. Arnolds went a little pale at the carnage that had been wrought through the corridors, when thirty experience C-Sec officers had gone toe to toe with ten of those massive…things and barely emerged alive. "We need to get a distress call off."

They emerged from the port building, and into the Citadel, and the windows showed what the great arms of the station were embracing; six behemoths, raining destruction upon the city-craft.

Five of them he recognised from two years ago, twins of the dreadnought that had lead the Geth assault on the station, massive onyx vessels that scored lines of fire across the Citadel's city blocks with great beam weapons. According to the Council, it was supposed to have been unique, but then that had been a lie, when those things had descended on Earth and caught everyone off guard. But the other craft was something completely and utterly alien.

It was colossal, larger even than the Reaper ships that flanked it, and made, bizarrely, of entirely organic matter. A massive spinal cord protruded from the yellowed flesh of its back, bone jutting out into the vacuum, and its massive belly was a mass of ribbed muscle and flesh, batteries of mass driver cannons crudely sutured into the meat of the creature. A stub of a tail housed the engines, while atrophied fins, one that would have been comically small if it weren't for the fact that they were the size of football fields, twitched as if paddling through the void. But the worst thing about it were its jaws, stretching forward like some hideous prow, smooth, scaly skin wrapped around the great column of bone filled with hundreds of needle teeth. As Iraxin watched, they opened with a slow majesty, the impossible vessel _twisting_ in the void to bring it round like some massive crocodile over one of the vessels of the Citadel Defence Fleet, before they slammed shut, the ship exploding in a burst of flame and debris.

"Sarge, shouldn't we get going?" Arnolds asked, pulling Iraxin's gaze from the dreadful sight before him.

"Yeah," the Turian said. "C'mon kid, before the Batarians or any of those other big…things appear."

They hurried through the empty streets of the Citadel, the two C-Sec officers' gazes darting around in search of danger as they headed for their destination, the local interplanetary comm. relay. They were quiet, disturbingly so, signs of combat all around them; burned out, crashed air-cars, holes blasted in the sides of buildings and bodies, too many bodies, of civilians, the C-Sec officers who had died defending them, and the bodies of Batarians, those visored machine soldiers and the massive, triple-jawed creatures that seemed immune to pain and frighteningly competent with the weapons they wielded.

They were a few blocks away from the comm. centre when they came across the enemy, four of those massive, bullish creatures with those hideous triple jaws. The eight eyed aliens gave a yell, turning their weapons upon the pair, and Iraxin fired off a burst before he yelled; "Run!"

They fled, sprinting away from the creatures and towards the comm. centre, while their pursuers bulled after them, roaring in bestial fury. Rounds from their rifles, massive onyx things the size of a light machine gun, slammed into the ground around their feet, glancing off their kinetic barriers and body armour.

"There!" Arnolds called, pointing to the building they wanted, the antenna array above it miraculously undamaged. He slammed his access code into the doorway, and it slid open, both of them rushing through before they hastily closed it behind them. There was a slamming as their pursuers reached it and tried to batter it down, and they hurried to the main room.

They reached it, sealing the door shut before Iraxin hurriedly keyed his access code in, trying his best to ignore the crashing noise and the triumphant roars that echoed from further down the building by the entrance. Arnolds took position with his rifle facing the door, and Iraxin could see that he was practically shaking with pent up terror and adrenaline. He knew that he could only send it out once, and a general distress signal might not make it. There was one person who he knew that he had to send it to.

As the door opened and the Yahg burst in to tear them to shreds, a distress call and a message of garbled yelling was sent though the comm. bouys floating throughout the galaxy and all the way to one specific ship.

Mere minutes after it was sent, it reached the ears of one specific individual.

"Joker, change our course, Malleus Scandarum ordered. "We're needed at the Citadel,"


	38. Chapter 37

Chapter 37-Lady Machtoro

They hit with the force of hurricane, and Yamzarat Machtoro had no choice but to stand there and let their fire slam into his shields. Overload warnings screamed in his cockpit, alarms blaring alerts in a language that had not been spoken for aeons, before Tali silenced them with a command from her console and ordered, in a voice of steel calm; "Yamzarat Machtoro, get out of there now."

"That is cowardice, Lady Machtoro," the god machine protested, even as he returned fire with his railgun.

"You are forgetting who is in charge, Yamzarat Machtoro," Tali replied, firmness built into her voice. "Get out of there or you'll get us all killed."

He growled, but there as a rhythmic thudding as he stepped backwards behind a building, putting some barrier between them and the massive Reaper machines that would see them harmed.

"Macjec, how are our shields?" Tali asked as the cockpit jolted with Yamzarat Machtoro's movements.

"We've got several generators threatening to burn out in engineering," the Polish engineer warned. "We try and run them at full power now and we'll have no shields for the rest of the fight. Best I can do is shut the damaged ones down now and we'll need someone to do some combat repairs on them before we can run them again."

"Lord Mechanist," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "Your duty calls."

"Go on, Andrew," Tali said. "You'll be fine."

"I'll be on his shields if anyone needs me," Andrew said as he hurried towards the empty shaft that lay at the rear of Yamzarat Machtoro's cockpit, grabbing the box of tools by his feet. He stepped into empty air before the titan's grav-transports caught him and propelled him downwards, saluting with a grin.

"Move into the building cover, Yamzarat Machtoro," Tali ordered, as one of the Reaper machines loomed out of the lee of their cover. "We can't afford to be flanked with our shields as they are."

The god machine fired a shield breacher at the foe, the hastily aimed shout ricocheting off its curved hull and slamming into a skyscraper, and the slew of dust and rubble was smokescreen enough for them.

"We've got them moving in on a trident movement," Tali warned, looking over the maps. "Fire-Master Parker, deploy chaff, blind them."

A great cloud of smoke bloomed from Yamzarat Machtoro's form as dozens of canisters detonated, spraying a mixture of smoke and particles of sensor-disrupting element-zero dust into the air. The contact map had all contacts on it freeze in place as the data flow to Yamzarat Machtoro from the Geth's hegemonous mind was disrupted.

"Yamzarat Machtoro, back along the road," Tali ordered. "Loop round and hit them in the rear."

"Understood, Lady Machtoro," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "A cunning plan."

The cockpit shuddered as he stepped backwards, backing away from the crossroads they were in and moving round to hit them in their rear, and that may well have saved the entire crew from destruction.

From either side, blinded, muted and deafened by the chaff Yamzarat Machtoro had thrown out, two of the Reapers' Almarach Machtoro blundered out of the smoke and right into one another. Their hulls ground into each other, glass shattering and kinetic barriers winking out, and Yamzarat gave a roar of triumphant amusement.

"Get me a target," he ordered. "We slay these creatures now!"

"I can't," Loggat-Master Yukio answered. "This chaff is messing up your aiming systems."

"I can see nothing through it," Yamzarat Machtoro growled, even as the two giants fumbled against one another, blindly scrabbling with their massive limbs. "I will need a target."

"Dammit," Yukio cursed. "Alright, I'm aiming it manually."

She called up the controls, manipulating the holograms around her. The image before her became centred with a crosshair, and she tracked it across the screen before her. She waited, before she said; "Target locked found. Firing for effect."

The cockpit shook as the railgun fired, and on the holograms before her Tali saw an explosion blossom over the two struggling giants, wreathing them in flame. The fire billowed outwards before coming to nothing, and one of the Almarach Machtoro was down, a column of smoke already rising from the massive hole punched through its armoured hide.

"Confirmed engine kill," Yukio announced. "Not bad."

The other engine pulled away from its slain partner, turning to face Yamzarat Machtoro now that the blinding cloud of chaff had been blasted away by the railgun hit.

"Get me a target on that thing," Yamzarat Machtoro ordered. "Now, before it can fire!"

"I won't have time," Yukio replied. "Damn it, damn it."

"Use the cannon," Tali ordered. "It's rapid fire, you'll hit soon enough."

Explosions stitched their way across the buildings as Yamzarat Machtoro fired blind, chunks of debris and clouds of dust blasting out into the street before the rounds smashed into the hull of the enemy, blasting craters into its onyx hide and staggering it. It tried to draw its shutters closed before a trio of shells crashed into the metal sheeting, mangling it to a grinding halt. The next shells blasted into the lenses that housed its beam weapons, smashing the armoured glass before roaring into its internal systems and sending a wash of flame blasting out from the inside. It toppled to the ground a gutted ruin, falling upon its knees in a surrender, and Tali checked the tactical map for the next contact.

It was alive with combat feeds once more, a great rash of red contact markers along the southern flank indicating the Geth's furious battle with the Reaper forces. Much larger markers, marked with some rune written in the Askriit tongue, indicated the position of the enemy god machines; blinded to his presence by the immense burst of smoke and dust vomited forth by his chaff canisters, they had spread out in a search pattering, and if it had not been that their two brethren had been muted by their blundering into the cloud of eezo dust then there was no doubt they would have descended upon Yamzarat Machtoro.

Beneath her mask, Tali smiled. It was time to turn the table on the enemy.

One of the foe had broken out of formation, and judging by the warnings coming in from Geth neural chatter it was ravaging the synthetic forces along the eastern tip of the flank. The rest were already circling round, feeds of Yamzarat Machtoro's position sent to them by the Reaper drones that circled above, but their prey was separate from the pack. If they could cut if off they might have a chance at taking it out before its allies arrive.

She gave the orders, Yamzarat Machtoro roaring in approval as he set out, each step propelled by his endless fury and bloodlust, raw eagerness to kill driving him forwards. He homed upon the lone engine inexorably, concrete cracking beneath his strides, before he stepped into the street behind it.

"Target acquired," Yukio announced. "Fire a standard round, full power with the cannon."

Yamzarat Machtoro opened fire, shots rippling against its shields, and Tali asked; "Shouldn't we try the shield piercers?"

"Those are only good when we're fighting it head on," Yukio replied. "Hull's too thick, otherwise. Besides, in streets this narrow it's too wide to turn easily. We've got plenty of firing time."

Yamzarat Machtoro fired, pumping shells and railgun slugs into the rear of the enemy god machine as it tried to turn, limbs smashing against the buildings as it tried to turn.

"Sensors telling me its kinetics are lowering," Macjec called. "Keep hammering it! Wait a minute, what is…oh god brace for impact! Brace!"

Yamzarat Machtoro roared as a god machine thundered into his side, the force of the impact sending him staggering back and crashing into the side of a building in a great spray of rubble and dust. The bridge lurched wildly, the crew thrown from their stations, and Tali screamed in pain as she slammed against the side of the command throne, ribs flaring in pain.

"What the hell just happened?" Andrew called up from inside Yamzarat Machtoro's engine room. "Jesus Christ."

"Reaper titan," Tali replied, trying to ignore the pain flaring in her ribs. "Somebody tell me where that thing came from."

"We're by a steelworks," one of the crew said. "Must have hidden out in there. God damn it, it caught us with our pants down."

The cockpit rocked as Yamzarat Machtoro's opponent slammed into him once more, the Askriit machine retaliating with a swing from his cannon. He stepped forwards, roaring furiously as he slammed the elbow of his railgun arm down on top of its hull, smashing it to the ground. His cannon roared, pumping shells into it, and for a moment Tali thought they might kill it before out of nowhere a beam of crimson sliced through the side of the building and into Yamzarat Machtoro's chest armour.

Alerts screamed at her in a dead tongue as the alloy of depleted uranium, tungsten, hardened, heat-dispersive ceramics and metals that the Council had no name for were melted away by the horrific power of the Reaper weapon. Yamzarat Machtoro bellowed in pain, and Tali yelled; "Raise shields! Raise shields!"

The kinetic barriers generators thrummed into life in the lower decks, raising shields at limited capacity, just enough to halt the murderous barrage before it did real damage.

"Why the hell are you raising the barriers?" Andrew called. "I barely even started to fix these things!"

"We had to, otherwise we would've been killed," Tali explained from the other end of the radio. "Get back up here, Andrew, that's all you're going to be able to do."

"Alright," Andrew said. "I'm heading up to the transport shaft now. Bring me up, Yamzarat Machtoro."

There was a silence, before Andrew asked; "Yamzarat Machtoro? You hear me?"

And that was when they heard him roaring.

Muffled by his armour, a roar hundreds of decibels in volume thundered from his speakers, a challenge that could be heard for miles around. He smashed his weapons atop the hull of the walker before him, stamping upon it and crushing its hull into twisted ruin before striding forwards, bellowing all the while. He crashed straight into the Reaper before him, hitting it with the side of his chest that remained armoured. It stumbled back and he opened fire with his cannon, point blank shots raining shrapnel into his open wound, punching holes into the enemy walker's armour. He slammed down with his railgun, firing relentlessly as he smashed his foe to the ground before raising a foot and sending it crashing down, armour crumpling beneath the immense force of the impact.

From behind them, another of the Reaper's walkers emerged. It fired its beam cannon, shots glancing off Yamzarat Machtoro's shields as he returned fire, raw reckless fury meaning he did not bother locking a target, shells smashing across the street as he thundered forwards.

"I WILL NOT FAIL!" he boomed over the din of combat. "I WILL NOT BE DENIED MY VENGEANCE!"

He hit it with the fury of an avalanche, smashing his cannon's massive ammunition drum on top of its front, smashing apart the glass lense of its weapon before slamming his railgun into the wound and firing.

The weapon came away in a burst of smoke, prongs mangled and bent by the shock of impact, and Yamzarat Machtoro bellowed in fury as the enemy god machine toppled to the ground. He stomped round the corner, heedless of the protests of the crew or the damage warning coming in, determined to hunt down the remaining titans.

The barely managed to fire before his cannon roared into life, shells smashing around the barriers at its eye lense, and the he was upon it, barrelling into it and slamming it into a skyscraper. The thing thrashed as it tried to rise, tearing at the support struts of the building blindly as Yamzarat Machtoro rained blows upon it with his railgun and cannon.

Beam fire slammed into his flank, wearing away at his shields, and he stepped back to confront the foe that dared interrupt his assault. Another of the Almarach Machtoro stomped down the street towards him, and in reply Yamzarat Machtoro roared in fury, raising his cannon to fire.

Even in his raw fury, some part of his tactical acumen remained. He did not aim his cannon at the approaching foe. Instead the shells slammed into one of the main support beams that made the five hundred metre edifice of concrete, steel and shattered glass stand.

With a groan, it fell, twisting in midair as it warped under its own mass. The Almarach Machtoro beneath it was crushed in moments, armour no match for the immense weight of rubble bearing down on top of it. The other was equally unfortunate, desperately scuttling forwards in order to avoid the toppling behemoth before a chunk of rubble fell from it smashed into its hull, staggering it, before the skyscraper crashed atop it and reduced it to nothing.

Yamzarat gave a roar of furious triumph, before stamping away from the front toward enemy reinforcements.

"More," he growled. "There must be more! Vengeance will be mine!"

"Yamzarat Machtoro, calm down," Tali ordered from the bridge. "We're supporting the Geth."

"Nay!" the god machine boomed. "I will kill all these creatures myself."

Tali's protests were ignored as he stomped towards the foe, his cannon already tracking in search of a target.

"Damn it, I've been locked out motion control," one of the crew warned. "I can't shut him down."

"Targeting's locked me out," Yukio called. "Damn it, what's he doing?"

Tali leant forward to the holograms by her command throne, tapping at buttons. Power was diverted, away from weapons and movement, and Yamzarat Machtoro slowed, before coming to a stop. He roared in frustration, desperately trying to move only to find that he had no power to do so.

"Let me fight!" he screamed furiously, the sheer volume of his voice over the cockpit speakers near deafening, causing several of the crew to stumble back from their consoles in shock. "Let me fight, damn you!"

"No, Yamzarat Machtoro," Tali said. "Our task was to eliminate enemy engines and to support the Geth advance. You're wounded, your railgun is out action and you're in no state to take on enemy armies. As your Lady Machtoro, I am ordering you to stand down."

There was a silence, before Yamzarat Machtoro said; "Very well, Lady Machtoro, I am bound by oath to obey you. I relent."

"Good," Tali said. "I want information feeds from the Geth, where we're needed, that sort of thing."

She sat up in her command throne, suddenly feeling more confident now the situation was under control, fighting back the wave of near hysterical relief that threatened to wash over her now that Yamzarat Machtoro was no longer on the rampage. She knocked the base of her halberd against the floor of the command throne, snapping the crew out of the slightly awed silence they had fallen into.

"Come on people, let's go!" she ordered.

The crew got to position as Yamzarat Machtoro stomped towards the lines, and Tali mentally prepared herself to face the rest of her day.

She also made a point of ignoring the small, most likely sane, part of her that was asking why her day involved commanding a walking fortress to aid an army of Geth and when this had happened.


	39. Chapter 38

**Author's note:** Wow, I can't believe held off the calibration cracks until now…

Also, special thanks to Kiue Jin for giving me the idea for this chapter's title. And, I suppose, Warmaster Horus. But seeing as Kiue used said quote in a review of his, I suppose the lion's share of the credit goes to him. Shine on you crazy Horus quoting diamond!

As well as this, some thanks go to S058 for reminding me about the existence of a pretty important ME character who I've failed to include in this piece so far, who should be appearing now. You'll know them when you see them. And it also proves that I care for/listen to you miserable reviewing peons. Now continue to pour praise upon my work and extol about how my godlike presence improves your insignificant lives, miserable underlings! Feed my immense ego! FEEEED!

This message was sponsored by too much coffee.

Also, 300 pages. Shoopydewapbap!

Chapter 38-Might of a Legion

The Citadel burned.

Fire raged along its five great arms as the Normandy swept towards the stricken station, flames consuming its atmosphere and infrastructure. Its massive white hull was blackened and scorched, and it seemed the only thing that remained untouched by the devastation was the station's inner ring. In its heart, a small fleet of ships floated, small ones of blocky designs that he didn't recognise, a few the sweeping onyx hulls of Reapers and one the likes of which he had seen only back in the Imperium, a kind of ship he would rather not see again.

"What is that?" Malleus murmured quietly as he looked at the behemoth that floated in the void from the Normandy's cockpit. Mass driver fire strafed from the gun decks seemingly hacked crudely from its flesh, before from the Citadel something screamed upwards and into its flank. Blue fire blossomed across its flesh, tearing a great chunk free, and it screamed silently before its pilots decided enough was enough and the thing began to turn to flee.

"I would say it was a Tyranid bioship, but they are generally more similar to gastropodal molluscs in their construction," Kullas said. "The only organism I can reference to this thing to in comparison to Terran species are extinct Icthyosaura."

"It is the Leviathan of Dis," Samara announced from behind them. "It must be."

"What?" Malleus asked.

"Oh yeah, I remember that," Joker said. "About twenty years ago or so, they discover this big organic ship in the Dis system, more than a billion years old. Some Salarians took some readings and data and stuff on it, but it was in Batarian controlled territory, they went in with a dread. Next thing that happens is that it disappears and the Batarians are denying it ever existed. Saw one of those late-night conspiracy shows about it a while back."

"So if the Batarians took it and it appears here now, then…" Malleus tailed off for a moment as he realised what this meant, his eyes narrowing. The next words came out as a low growl; "_Traitors._"

The next order were brisk and clipped; "Joker, lock onto a signal if you can, get us as close to concentrated C-Sec forces as you can. Samara, Kullas, we're deploying via the Kodiak."

"Gotcha, captain," Joker said. "Activating the stealth systems now."

"Good," Malleus said. "Have Gabriella and Kenneth ready the Thannix cannons to fire if necessary."

"I'll do it now," Joker said. "Gotta say, those things haven't been anywhere near as accurate as they used to be now that Garrus isn't obsessing over their calibration. Don't get me wrong, they hit home but-"

"Calibrated," Kullas announced.

"What?"

"I accessed the Normandy's systems and calibrated them," Kullas said.

"That takes Garrus _hours_," Joker said. "How the hell did you manage that?"

"Well it takes him hours with his inferior organic brain," Kullas replied. "Mine is a fusion of the organic and the mechanical, with the strengths of both and the weaknesses of neither, and so is able to carry out such a task in just a few milliseconds."

"Don't let Garrus find that out," Joker said. "He'll probably kill you."

There was a brief, reflective pause from Kullas, before he said; "Yes. I can imagine such frustration may manifest itself as homicidal rage with him."

"You can break the news later," Malleus said. "We still need to lift this siege. Joker, drop us off on the Zakera Ward; we'll move up to the Presidium from there. That's probably the closest we can get without getting detected. Besides, if there's weapon on there that can keep that abomination at bay then I don't want it firing on the Normandy. EDI, keep trying to get through to the fleet in the Sol System."

"I shall keep attempting, but Alliance Communications are still experiencing difficulty," EDI said. "I am not sure that we will be able to deliver such a message over long range at the moment."

"Keep trying," Malleus said. "Reinforcements would help. Joker, get us as close as you can."

"In that case, we're probably not going to have much time to hang around," Joker said as the craft pulled towards the Citadel. "Better get down to the shuttle."

"Agreed," Malleus said. "Come, you two."

"One moment," Kullas said. "I will join you in the hangar shortly, I simply need to fetch something from the armoury."

He hurried off, Servo Arms raised above his back like the limbs of some great mechanical spider, and Samara and Malleus were left alone.

"The calm before the storm," the brother captain remarked as they headed towards the lift. "Heading into combat to deal righteous retribution against a band of traitors who would see us undone."

Samara nodded quietly, but said nothing else.

"Are you alright, Justicar?" Malleus asked. "You seem nervous."

"That would be one word for it," Samara replied.

"Strange, you aren't usually unnerved by combat," Malleus said. "Or is there anything else I need to know of?"

"No," Samara said. "Just strange to be fighting on territory as…familiar as the Citadel, that's all."

Malleus nodded.

"Quite symbolic for your people, isn't it?" he asked.

"As symbolic as Earth is for your Imperium," Samara said. "Well, perhaps it isn't sacred territory, but it is similar; a sign of unity and peace in the galaxy. Not to mention that I lived there for a few decades."

"Really? Whereabouts," Malleus asked as the lift opened to show the hangar. The shuttle had already been lowered and it had its door open for them.

"In the Koera Ward," Samara replied. "It was a few centuries ago, back when I was young."

"I see," Malleus said. Behind them, the doors of the lift slid shut and it began to rise. "I really do mean to install a second one of those once all this is over."

Samara raised an eyebrow.

"It is the most irritating thing to have to pointlessly wait while only one person or group of people can use it as a time," the brother captain said. "Or even better, I shall get a staircase. I'm sure that even Joker would be able to walk faster than the pace that thing deigns to go at. Not to mention it led to Joker having to crawl around in the engineering ducts when the Collectors boarded. Might have lead to some of the crew actually managing to marshal an effective response, or evacuating quickly. As it was, the poor souls were trapped, and the only way out of a corner in a battle is to fight your way out of it. And not even Gaius managed to do that."

There was a silence, before Malleus said; "You're probably going to ask me how I'm feeling about Hullen's death now I've bought up the subject of my brothers passing away, aren't you?"

"What?" Samara asked.

"You're in the habit of bringing up subjects that seem to relate to matters of the heart, I've noticed," Malleus said. "I'm amazed you haven't already."

"Sometimes I worry about you," Samara said. "You're too taciturn for your own good, Malleus."

The brother captain shrugged.

"It's not my place to get emotional," he replied. "Besides, if you're wondering how I'm feeling about Hullen, I feel proud; he died the way an Astartes should, with his foes piled at his feet and an end worthy of legend. Gaius should not have been killed the way he did; an Astartes should not be put down by his brothers like some rabid animal, in unwilling service to some abomination."

The doors of the lift slid open, and Kullas emerged, his ornate bolter mag clamped to his thigh, holding what looked to be a small grey box in one hand, the other holding a bulky weapon with a pair of prongs instead of a conventional barrel, a cable leading from it snaking into his armour's power plant, a second one held to his waist.

"Armament for you, Justicar," he announced as he stepped over the hangar's threshold. "One of the lasrifle prototypes I constructed. It may be of use in the battle ahead."

Samara took it from Kullas, pressing the activation stud on the weapon and watching it unfold.

"That will be of great use," she said. "Thank you, Kullas."

"It is not problematic," Kullas replied.

"What's that weapon, Kullas?" Malleus asked, nodding to the device the Forge Priest held.

"Cerberus Arc Projector," he answered. "Prototype weapon, designed to combat synthetics and overwhelm barriers, quite appropriate given our enemy. I made a few modifications to make it compatible with my power pack so it wouldn't require ammunition to be collected, and also improved some of the targeting systems so it would not be quite so imprecise; apparently the original model was somewhat indiscriminate in its attentions."

"What does it do?" Samara asked.

"Launches bolts of electricity," Kullas said.

Malleus chuckled at this

"Appropriate, then," he said. "If that is not a sign of divine providence then I don't know what is."

"Captain, we're coming up to a safe drop point," Joker said. "I don't want to risk bringing the Normandy any closer."

"Understood Joker, the shuttle is ready to drop," Malleus said. "Send it the coordinates."

"Sending now," EDI said.

"Good luck out there commander," Joker said. "The Normandy will be standing by if you need her."

"I don't need reassuring of that," Malleus said. "Scandarum out; I'll speak to you once we're doing saving this station."

#

"We've got more of them incoming! Big ones!"

"Get the heavy MG on them, keep their heads down!" came the order. "The rest of you, keep targets! Do not shift fire, repeat, do no shift fire!"

To their credit, the collection of C-Sec officers, soldiers and mercenaries under her command kept their firing discipline, even as the machine gun they had set up at the barricade boomed into life, biting great chunks out of the cover the Yahg had ducked behind. Shotgun and assault rifle fire sprayed from the barricade of air cars and debris that had been set up, slamming into the shields of the broad shouldered, visored soldiers and the Batarians that tried to push forward against it.

Behind them there was a cracking roar as one of the defence batteries opened up on a dropship that swept overhead, missiles streaking into its hull before it tried to pull away. Smoke billowed from the ruptures in its metal skin, and it crashed down a few blocks away.

"Hope that squashes your buddies, ya bastards!" a human officer yelled at the forces trying to overwhelm them, and there was a ragged cheer of agreement from the defenders.

"Heavy weapon incoming!" somebody warned.

"Aronis, lay down some fire on it," came the order. "I want that thing killed before it brings the barricade down!"

A deep pulsing noise sounded as a sniper round sped from the buildings behind them, slamming into the neck of the visored Reaper footsoldier lugging the beam launcher forwards. It toppled, and the voice sounded; "It's down, Second Lieutenant. Moving to a new position."

"Understood," Ashley Williams replied. "Good shot."

"We got a big one charging!" a C-Sec officer called.

"Get the MG on it!" Ashley ordered, the former Alliance Marine, now Spectre rising from cover to open up on a Batarian who was about to throw a grenade. The Mattock she was using barked and thudded, the high powered shots smacking into his shields and forcing him back into cover before he could fire. She pulled the trigger on her grenade launcher and the projectile sailed behind the barrier he and the rest of his squad were sheltering behind; the explosive detonated in the midst of the four-eyed aliens, tearing them apart and Ashley looked over to see the charging Yahg get hit by the MG. Its kinetics lasted only a few moments before the heavy rounds overpowered them, tearing chunks from the dark armour it wore and blasting out great slabs of muscle from its broad shouldered form. Roaring furiously, it toppled before it came near, shredded by the machine gun before the gunner turned his weapon upon the rest of the enemy before them.

Ashley ducked down in time to see the Turian next to her get hit in the chest by a round, gasping in pain as he clutched the wound, cyan blood already beginning to leak from it.

"Man down!" she called, grabbing the casualty and pulling him down, already fumbling for the canister of medi-gel in her webbing. "I need a medic over here!"

An Asari hurried to her position, already with a medi-pack to hand, ducking next to them before asking; "What's the situation?"

"Abdominal wound, standard round by what I could see," Ashley replied. "I stabilised the bleeding with medi-gel."

The Turian in question coughed hoarsely, trying to rise before the Asari restrained him with a gentle hand to the shoulder. She reached to the two poles at her back before pressing a button, letting them telescope apart from one another before unrolling the cloth between them. She place the gurney to hover on the ground next to them, before she said; "I'll need a hand with him, Second Lieutenant."

"Alright," Ashley said. "Let me just-"

"Suffer not the traitor to live!"

The shout resounded across the battlefield and for a moment it went silent, attacker and defender alike shocked by its suddenness and the terrifying wrath behind it. Despite herself, Ashley glanced over the top of the barricade, and it was then that she saw him.

"In all of existence, there is nothing more reviled than the traitor and turncoat!"

Clad in shining white armour, the giant heralded his arrival by sending a Yahg before him, the burly alien tumbling over itself in a mess of broken limbs and shattered bone. Malleus Scandarum, the Hero of Earth, had appeared seemingly from nowhere, and for the first time in hours Ashley allowed herself to feel hope.

"While the heretic may be cleansed and absolved of sin in the Emperor's holy fire, there is no such forgiveness for the traitor!"

As he stormed forwards into another knot of enemies, laying about him with a hammer and sword wreathed in crackling energies, another Astartes emerged, this one clad in deep crimson plate. In his hands he held a pair of strange weapons, the like of which Ashley had not seen before. He raised them and squeezed the triggers, and great arcs of lightning tore from the prongs at their tips, scattering and jumping through the forces before him, overpowering shields, shredding electronics and flash-frying flesh. Next to him was an Asari, some kind of strange rifle held in her hands; when she fired, a blue beam speared from the weapon, slicing right through shields and melting the armour of a Reaper soldier, before a Batarian that tried to club at her with the butt of his rifle was grabbed in a net of biotic force and hurled away.

"For the traitor, only the cold darkness of the void awaits, to be alone and reviled for eternity!"

A roaring Yahg bulled towards Malleus as he bellowed his prayer, only for him to slam his blade straight into its maw, heedless of the needle teeth that occupied it. It tore through the back of its skull, and he kicked it off the blade to parry a strike from another's claws, smashing that one to pulp with his hammer. Next to him, the one in red and the Asari unleashed a storm of beam fire, biotic energy and arcing electricity.

"The traitor cannot be forgiven, cannot be absolved! The only wage the traitor shall earn is death!"

The foe were dispatched in mere moments, shredded by the sudden ferocity of the attack on their rear. The last of their number, a terrified Batarian, was knocked to the ground, pinned to the floor by a massive, power armoured boot as Malleus raised his blade. It stabbed down, tearing through the chest of the alien as the power field cooked its flesh.

"Such is the fate of all traitors," Malleus growled, sliding it free, his power field blackening his blade as it boiled the blood on it. He noticed the defenders on the barricade seemingly for the first time, deactivating his weapons before asking; "Who is in charge here?"

"That would be me," Ashley said, standing up now that the combat was cleared. "Second Lieutenant Ashley Williams, Council Spectre."

"I see," Malleus said. "I take it there is no need for me to introduce myself."

Ashley shook her head.

"I'd know you anywhere, sir," she said.

"Glad to hear," Malleus said. "Open up this barricade, I need to talk to whoever is in charge of this defence."

"That would be Executor Pallin, sir," Ashley said, before glancing over to a Salarian on the other flank of the barricade. "Sergeant, organise a detail to let Scandarum through."

"On it, ma'am," the almond-eyed alien replied, before barking out orders to some of the soldiers around him.

"After I'm through, Williams," Malleus said. "Take me to your leader."

#

The latest supply convoy broke through the Charon Relay into the waiting arms of the combined fleet, frigates and cruisers falling into formation around the lumbering supply ships as they jumped out of superluminal speed. At the head of the fleet, alongside the OFC Knife Edge and the Star of Ilium, the Thermopylae lead the way as it set course for Earth, ready to drop off stocks of ammunition, food, fuel and medical supplies to the troops on the ground.

"Keeps sensors up," Anderson ordered from the bridge of the Alliance's flagship. "The Reapers will be waiting for us, I know that much."

"David," Aria's voice came across the radio. "I've got word from the freighter crews; they confirmed the Citadel's gone quiet. No cargo from it either."

The Admiral muttered a quiet curse, before saying; "Alright, we'll need to work out what to do about it. Any word from Scandarum or the Normandy?"

"They aren't with the fleet," Aria replied. "Last thing I heard from him, his weapon deal went through, and he said he was on the way back."

"That's all I heard," Anderson replied. "Whatever's holding him up, I'm sure he's got a good reason for it."

"Reapers incoming," an ensign warned from a holo-console nearby. "Hundred thousand kilometres, bearing of thirty two, forty one, seventy."

"I see them," Anderson said. "All ships, this is Admiral Anderson. We've got incoming contacts on the relayed coordinates; form up to protect the transports."

Confirmations came in while Anderson began to give orders to his crew, the bridge of the Thermopylae erupting into controlled chaos as crewmen rushed to position. Gunnery crews prepared for combat, while the kinetic barriers drew extra power in preparation for the fight to come.

"Admiral, sir," someone called. "We've got trouble in Engineering. Mutiny of some kind."

"What the…send a unit of Stevedores down there, restore order," Anderson ordered. "We'll need engineering."

"On it sir," came the reply.

"We've got reports of fighting on more ships," someone else warned. "Something is happening; full scale sabotage. Holy crap, the SSV El Alamein just opened fire on the Helmand!"

"Get me a status report!" Anderson ordered. "Now!"

"Anderson, what the hell is going on?" Vice-Admiral Timira called. "Half of my ships are in mutiny all of a sudden!"

"I don't know," David replied. "I'm trying to get the situation under control. Get armsmen down into the decks if you have to, keep the ships in order!"

He turned to send out more orders to the crew.

"Get me a sitrep on…"

He trailed off as he saw an ensign before him, a pistol in the man's hand and pointed towards his skull. In the chaos of the Thermopylae's bridge, nobody saw it until the sound of a pistol firing cut across the bridge and David Anderson toppled to the floor. The crewman in question turned, spraying fire across the room and cutting through his former comrades, gunning down an armsman before he could react, and then pulling a detonator from his belt.

"For the Old Gods and the Great Salvation!" he cried, and the Thermopylae's bridge erupted in fire.

It hung helpless in the void as the Reapers approached, while around it the allied fleet disintegrated. Ships from the Terminus fleet had vicious brawls erupt on their decks as the pirate and mercenary crews turned on one another, while Turian vessels were paralysed by sabotage and disruption. Asari screamed and writhed in agony on the decks and in the corridors of their spacecraft as their biotic amps were overloaded, while life support shut down and airlocks opened all across the fleet. Only the Geth remained untouched, their collective conscience immune to infiltration, but even so there was little they could do.

Aria cursed as she dodged a rifle shot, drawing her pistol and letting loose with the weapon at the Salarian who would see her killed. They blasted into the crewman who was yelling something about gods, cutting him down before she turned to smash a crewman aiming a rifle at her from his feet with a bolt of biotic power. The former Commando cursed as her crew seemed to turn on her, half a dozen members of the bridge crew opening fire on Omega's queen even as the rest of the pirates loyal to her gunned them down.

"Arix, Eddick, get down to the decks and restore order," she shouted at her two lieutenants, the Batarian and Krogan's weapons smoking from their firing. "Now!"

She turned to the rest of the bridge crew, saying; "Goddess' sake, tell me we can at least move the Knife Edge."

"We can," came the reply. "I can control the engines from here."

"Good," Aria said. "Get us the hell out of here, now!"

She opened a comm. channel to the rest of the fleet, before saying; "All ships, this is Aria T'Loak. We can't fight the Reapers like this; all units are to bug out and go to ground. If you can run, run. If you can't run, fight. If you can't fight then, well, pray hard, because we can't come rescue you. It's every ship for itself now. Aria out."


	40. Chapter 39

**Note de l'autheur:** If any of you are interested in the backstory of Yamzarat Machtoro and in the civilisation that he came from, I recommend you check out my new piece, Machtoro. It can be found at: .net/s/7346861/1/Machtoro and should, hopefully, be a good read, not to mention a fun bit of world building on my behalf.

Chapter 39-Wake

"You shouldn't be up and about yet, Miri."

Miranda shrugged at Titus' gentle rebuke as she entered the small prefab building, as if the bandages swathing the right side of her skull were nothing important.

"I don't like sitting around," the Lady Castellan replied. "Besides, I had to come."

Titus shook his head, before saying; "That's fair. How are you?"

"What, aside from missing half my skull?" Miranda asked. "As well as I could be, all things considered. I'm still missing my depth perception."

"Speak to Okeen after we're done," Titus said. "He should be able to get a bionic for you."

Miranda nodded, before Garrus asked; "Are we ready to go?"

"Aye," Titus said. "Apothecary, bear his helm."

The entire squad were there, minus Malleus, Samara, Kullas and Tali, all gathered into the room. They fell into a rough line, Titus as their head with the banner of the Sixth in his hand, before he opened the door and small train stepped out.

There were an awful lot of people in front of the stage, Miranda realised. Soldiers of every species were gathered around, thousands of them, respectfully silent as the procession emerged. She could see the journalist that Malleus had taken under his wing standing on a raised podium, camera tracking their procession as it emerged from the building.

The stage's only ornamentation was an altar draped in a white cloth, the Aquila emblem of Titus' Imperium and the crossed hammer and lightning bolt of the Sons of Thunder sewn into it. They parted before it, moving to either side of the stage, only the three Astartes staying at its centre, Titus to one side, Cyralius on the other, Okeen reverentially laying Hullen's helmet on top of the cloth.

There was a silence, before Titus stepped forward and said; "We are gathered here today to remember Hullen Karamaisah, Adeptus Astartes of the Sons of Thunder and loyal servant of the Emperor. Hullen gave his life fighting the menace known as the Reapers, and we give thanks to him for the sacrifice he made. Through his death, he saved the lives of many and allowed us victory, and with his final actions he prevented a weapon of great potency from falling into the hands of the enemy. Through his courage and example, we can all take note."

Cyralius stepped forwards, saying; "Hullen Karamaisah was born upon the world of Polyphemus in the mine-city of Ur. He was selected for the Sons of Thunder at the age of twelve, and excelled with his training. In the Scout company, he distinguished himself with his selflessness, courage and loyalty, and throughout his career as a Marine he displayed those same exemplary traits. He was selected to serve in the command squad of the Sixth Company by Malleus Scandarum, and in his time destroyed a great many of the foe, sending hosts of blasphemies to their end with his melta. He was the embodiment of what all marines of the Sons aspire to be, and was one of the most loyal and steadfast brothers and friends I have ever had the honour of having."

Titus slammed the banner into the ground, the pointed base punching through the floor of the stage and holding it in place, before he said; "Let us have a moment of silence, so we may reflect on his sacrifice, and that of each soldier that has given their lives fighting the Reaper menace."

He bowed his head, and the crowd remained quiet, many of them lowering their own in respect. For Miranda the sensation was somewhat amazing; the sheer number of people who had come for this funeral, something about it showed just what the Astartes meant to this galaxy. Wherever they went, they inspired, and that was something powerful indeed. No wonder their people called them angels.

The silence was broken by Titus saying; "Great Emperor, watch over the soul of your Angel as he makes his way to your Golden Throne. Grant him a place by your side, the reward for one of the faithful, and grant him mercy. Guide us all in the battles to come, lend us your divine aid so we might triumph. Imperator vult."

"Imperator vult!" Okeen and Cyralius echoed.

Surprisingly, several in the crowd cried out the Imperial blessing, xenos and human alike, even though they were ignorant of what it meant. At that, the three Astartes filed back, each of them stepping off the stage, before the rest of the procession followed.

"Those who wish to pay their respects may do so now," Cyralius said. "His helm will not be moved."

It was then that the line began to form, and the Astartes saw something that amazed them.

#

They were still queuing an hour later. Titus could see them from there, a line of humans and aliens alike, all of them stopping reverentially before the stage. Each of one of them paused for a few moments, looking at Hullen's helm or perhaps murmuring a few words, before continuing to allow the next soldier in line to do so. Apparently, almost every soldier, officer and support staffer that could have been here had come, and such a thing quietly stunned the banner bearer.

"It is a strange thing," he remarked to Cyralius. "All these people, turning up for Hullen, human and alien alike. I never would have thought it."

"It's simple," Cyralius replied. "It's because he was one of us. And we are this galaxy's great hope."

Titus glanced over at the Epistolary, who stood watching the procession before them. His eyes seemed swollen, and there were a couple of tiny holes by their inner edges, like he had injected something into the tear duct. He had decided not to ask, though; Cyralius most likely had a good reason for keeping such a thing from them, though secrecy was not typical of the Librarian.

"Care to explain, brother?"

"Our timing was near perfect," Cyralius replied. "That is all there is to it; a group of seemingly invulnerable, unstoppable warriors appears out of nowhere, sworn to protect the innocent. And when they are suddenly attacked by a race of ancient machines, forward steps Malleus Scandarum, with promises of salvation; it is revealed he knew of the threat and had been gathering means to stop it, before he unites the largest army in known history and launches a counterassault. In every battle, he leads from the front, he secures victories and all the time he is followed by equally powerful battle brothers, all of whom compound this seemingly impossible wondrousness by fighting with weapons thought to have been made obsolete. Look me in the eye and honestly tell me that the people of this galaxy would not be inspired by such a thing."

Titus nodded.

"I see what you mean," he said. "It still doesn't make it any less…unexpected."

"I don't think any of us expected this to happen when we were hit by that Shock Attack Gun," Cyralius replied. He smiled slightly morosely. "I suppose that I am partly to thank for us to be here, in retrospect."

"I doubt even Epistolary Ollias could have seen such a thing coming," Titus remarked. "And he's the most talented Augur in the Sons."

Cyralius nodded at that.

"Indeed," he said. "I imagine that if he had been struck by that same vision I had, he would have simply announced that Earth was going to attacked by the Reapers in a few days, we were to be aided by a hibernating AI titan built by an extinct civilisation, New London will be destroyed and then Old London would then be attacked, and it would be up to us to save all of Humanity. Not to mention that he would probably be able to work out what I was saying when I talked of the creators being destroyed and remade once more."

"I'm sure we shall find out soon enough," Titus said. "Perhaps it will be humanity."

"Care to explain?" Cyralius asked.

"They helped create the Imperium," Titus said. "Perhaps, in order to create a new Imperium here, like Malleus plans, we will need to purge the Alliance and start afresh with only the faithful."

"Perhaps," Cyralius said, but there was an edge of doubt to his voice.

"There something wrong with that idea?"

"No, and at the same time, yes," Cyralius said. "The people of the Alliance here are different to those in the Imperium. I have a unique viewpoint into the minds of people as a psyker, and the way they think is very different indeed. The minds of the Imperium's populace are ones tinged with fear and hate, and it is feeling that they are bought up on. I was so used to it that at first, when I saw the humans of this galaxy I felt something missing and I wondered what was wrong with them, that they were somehow born with some mass mental illness. And then I realised that they simply did not have hate and fear ingrained into their personalities from childhood. The people here are different, and though I fear I blaspheme, I think that perhaps they do not need an Emperor or an Imperium."

"What are you saying, brother?" Titus asked. More than anything else, the banner bearer looked more unsettled than he did outraged at hearing one of his most trusted comrades say such a thing.

"We have discovered a humanity better than our own," Cyralius replied. "And I have no idea what to do about such a thing."

"Cyralius, this is blasphemy," Titus said. "The people here need the Emperor, for their own sake."

Cyralius shook his head.

"A galaxy at constant war needs the Emperor," he replied. "This is not such a galaxy. People look up to us now as they did in the Imperium as we are its defenders and guardians against a threat they otherwise cannot hope to fight, but what will become of us when this war is over? What shall we do? People here have short memories, and within a few generations this war will have faded to memory and there will be those asking 'what use are these Astartes? They are dangerous, and not fit for this galaxy. We have peace and they are made for war. Do we want people like that with us?' What will do about that?"

"Cyralius, you speak heresy," Titus said.

"Perhaps I do," Cyralius replied. "Or perhaps I simply speak the truth. The idea may seem alien to you, Titus, but I think differently to the way you do and whenever I consider the matter I cannot help but think that perhaps the Imperium is not the answer this galaxy needs."

"Cyralius, the Imperium is the greatest achievement of humanity, despite its faults," Titus replied. "_Every_ galaxy needs it."

"I suspected you would say that," Cyralius replied. "All I will say is that I have been on the receiving end of its cruelty far more than you have. We have both seen humanity's failings and weaknesses at first hand, but a the very least you are revered and celebrated for what you do; I am as much as hero as you, brother, yet still I am treated with fear and suspicion, even by others in my own chapter. Here, I am not. Imagine what you would think if you were taken from a place where all feared and hated you to somewhere where, despite it being obvious what you were, you were treated as an actual person instead of some animal that can talk and read. Tell me how you would find such a thing."

"I thought you believed psykers needed controlling more than even the next man," Titus replied.

Cyralius nodded, before saying; "That still does not justify unnecessary cruelty. People fear what they do not understand, and they become cowardly, blind and weak because of it. So tell me what you would think if you were suddenly faced with those who were not so blinkered in their views of others."

"I have no idea," Titus answered. "Now that you ask, I honestly don't."

Cyralius shrugged, before saying; "Perhaps that is enough existential angst for one day. The others were holding a wake for Hullen, and I suspect that we are wanted there as well."

Titus nodded, before heading to one of the prefabricated metal buildings that the rest of the team had taken, along with Wrex. As they entered, Titus frowned, looking at the holographic map of the frontline that the rest of the team were gathered around, various points highlighted.

"I thought this was supposed to be a wake," Titus said as he entered. "Looks more like you're planning something."

"That's because we are," Miranda said from her place at the head of the table.

Garrus nodded; "Hullen was part of our team. We want some payback."

The rest of the team voiced their agreement, only Legion remaining silent. Heretics and xenos wanting to avenge an Astartes, Titus reflected silently. God Emperor, what a strange galaxy he had been thrown into.

"So this is your payback?" Cyralius asked, nodding to the map.

"That's right," Miranda replied. "We're may be stuck at this standstill, but we've got some weak points that we've identified. If we hit those we can give our forces an edge."

Titus nodded; the Reapers and the Council and their allies had ground mauled each other after their initial assault, the Council was too weak in its current state to push forwards before more reinforcements were shipped into the French coastline from Britain. There was sporadic fighting along their front, but so far the Reapers had been content to consolidate their forces and dig in, a move mirrored by the Council forces.

"What have you decided, then?" he asked.

"We've found vehicle depots and transport points," Miranda said. "Not to mention several artillery and anti-air emplacements as well. But our best target is this one."

She pressed a button on her omni tool, and the image changed, an aerial shot of some kind of Reaper compound. Several massive buildings occupied it, surrounded by a ring of fortifications.

"It's a superstalker factory," Miranda explained. "You know first hand how much damage those things can do, and the last thing we want is them hitting our forces once we attack. We'll cripple their ability to counter effectively if we pull it off."

"A good idea," Titus said. "What are the details?"

"We're still working those out," Miranda said. "But do you think we could do it?"

Titus nodded.

"Aye, I reckon that we could," he said. "For Hullen and vengeance."

"For Hullen and vengeance!"


	41. Chapter 40

Chapter 40-Remembrance

"I am sorry for your comrade's death, Little Quarian," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled as Tali flicked the holographic display in the hangar off. "He died well, and with great courage."

Tali nodded, before simply saying; "I'll miss him."

She had watched the whole thing as it was broadcast live, seeing Titus and Cyralius' speech and the crowd that had gathered to pay their respects to Hullen. She had always liked Hullen, and to see him brought low by the Reapers was the last thing she expected; out of all of them, he had seemed invincible, strong as a Krogan and utterly tireless, and him dying was an idea that seemed almost ridiculous.

Yukio shook her head, before saying; "Goddammit. Didn't think any of those guys could die."

The rest of Yamzarat Machtoro's crew nodded in agreement, and there was a long, reflective silence before Tali said; "Alright everyone. Let's get back to work."

They dispersed and Tali lingered a moment, watching the shots of people lining up before Hullen's small memorial before she deactivated the hologram and left it. Her staff clacked on the floor of the hangar that housed Yamzarat Machtoro, echoing around the space as she made her way around it. She talked to his crew about the repairs, about what would need to be done, and the conversations confirmed what she had feared about him; he was going to be out of action for days, maybe even weeks. Much of him had had to be taken apart, his armour layers taken off him with cranes and currently standing in one part of the hangar, his chestplate and leg armour a collection of massive white crenellations. A few of his engineers were patching it up the best they could, directing Geth drones to repair the rents and scars torn into the metal.

Others were scurrying about the outside of his now bare chest, making repairs to the exposed piping and wiring that had been damaged in the combat, held in place by harnesses as they fixed him. There was a sudden cracking noise and a yell of shock, and Tali called up; "Is everything alright?"

"It's fine," came the reply. "Unexpected wires, that's all."

"Have a care," Yamzarat Machtoro warned. "I would hate to be the killer of one of my own engineers."

The mechanic in question pulled himself back into place and, once he had gathered his wits, continued his work. Tali shook her head, before continuing around. She found Yukio inspecting his railgun on where it lay on a low scaffold, the weapon arm having been detached so it could be repaired. The prongs of the weapon had been bent and mangled by Yamzarat Machtoro's treatment of it, the metal warped out of shape.

"It's pretty beat up, chief," Yukio said as she approached. "Case you hadn't guessed."

Tali frowned, before saying; "Do you think you can fix it?"

"Possibly," Yukio said. "It would help if I had the materials it was made of, blueprints written in a language I could read and at least _some_ understanding of the tech that makes it work."

"Didn't the Geth manage to make some?" Tali asked.

"Yeah, and I've got some in English, but most of it still doesn't make any sense, especially seeing as all the names Yamzarat Machtoro knows for the materials are in his language," Yukio replied. "Anyway, the ones the Geth built are small fry; one of the problems we have with railgun tech is the heat buildup, and with one the size of this it would melt after one shot with the metals we have. They made it out of something else, and I've pretty stuck as to what it is."

"What were they?" Tali asked. "I'm pretty sure we can recreate it if we know what its actually made of."

"Any idea what Dezilthreen is?" Yukio said.

"No."

"My point entirely. And that's all he knows about it."

Tali crouched next to it, wincing slightly as pain stabbed from her ribs, peering at it. The weapon was mangled and scorched, metal partially melted away and the circuitry and delicate parts that were housed in its rear were an utter ruin.

"We're going to have to scrap it," she said. "There's no way we can fix that."

"Thought as much," Yukio said. "Thing is, what do we have instead? No way any of our weapons could match up to that thing."

"That's true," Tali said. "But I've got an idea."

"Your Astartes friends' stuff?" Yukio asked, with a slight grin. "That could work."

"Yamzarat Machtoro!" Tali called up to the God Machine.

"Aye, Little Quarian?" he rumbled in reply.

"Is your comm. unit still working? I need to send Kullas a message."

"It functions still," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "I shall ready for your use when you arrive in my cockpit."

Tali nodded her thanks, before Yukio asked; "How does he get away with that?"

"With what?"

"Calling you 'Little Quarian' all the time," Yukio answered. "If I called you 'Quarian' then I'd be out on my ass in a second."

"He's just trying to be nice," Tali replied.

"Point still stands," Yukio said. "Or is this sort of like the fact your granddad or great uncle or something is a racist, and you sort of put up with it because they're old?"

"Well, that and he can destroy cities," she said.

"True. Gives people leeway." 

Tali chuckled quietly at this.

"Hey, chief, I've been meaning to ask," Yukio said suddenly. "What with us suddenly working on Yamzarat Machtoro and stuff, are we going to, y'know, get paid any extra for this? I mean, come on, we're working on the most powerful ground vehicle in the galaxy, that's gotta count for something, right?"

"I don't know," Tali replied after a moment's thought.

"Well, you of all people should be getting good pay for this," Yukio said. "Lady Machtoro's got to be an officer rank, at least."

"I'm not getting paid anything for it," Tali said. "I just kind of signed up for this and then the next thing I know I'm in charge of him."

"Yeah, well, I suppose I expected just to have a nice cushy job as an REMF when I joined," Yukio remarked. "Hell, we can work out pay and stuff later. But when this is done, I want a medal, got it?"

"I'll see what I can do," Tali said, smiling beneath her mask and turning to go to Yamzarat Machtoro's foot hatch. "And I'll get back to you about that weapon."

"Alright," Yukio said. "See you around, chief."

Chief. Tali wasn't sure who had started calling her that, but she liked the impromptu title. It worked, and was certainly a lot easier than Lady Machtoro.

One of the hatches that allowed entry and egress into Yamzarat Machtoro's inner works opened up, and gingerly she climbed in. His internal gravitic systems caught her a moment later, lifting her gently upwards through corridors and past piping, until she eventually reached Yamzarat Machtoro's cockpit. It dropped her gently to the floor, and she walked over to the main communication console.

"Hey Tali," Andrew called from where he was working on a gutted console.

"Hi Andrew," she replied. "What are you doing?"

"Just fixing this thing up," Andrew said. "Diagnosis console, kind of important."

Tali nodded, before saying; "Get me a line to the Normandy, Yamzarat Machtoro, secure encryption."

"I am doing so, little Quarian," Yamzarat Machtoro replied.

A message telling her that a secure connection was set up appeared, and she typed it in swiftly before sending it. She stepped back from her console, and then said; "What are you doing, Yamzarat Machtoro?"

"What do you mean, little Quarian?" he replied.

"I mean, what are you up to at the moment?" Tali said. "All you're doing is standing here, how do you pass the time?"

"I watch my crew and converse with them," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "And I remember."

"Remember what?"

"My people," Yamzarat Machtoro said.

"What were they like?" Tali asked. "I've been wanting to ask."

"Yeah," Andrew said. "I've been wondering what they looked like."

On one of the projectors in the centre of the cockpit, around Tali's command throne, an image flickered into life. Both engineers looked at the two figures projected; soft, light purple skin, large pointed ears, biolumiscent eyes, completely hairless heads. They were smiling slightly sadly at the camera, holding hands. One of them, the one she guessed to be male, had a pair of bony ridges running along the top of his skull down over his neck, while the other wore what looked to be robe woven with flecks of shimmering metal.

"They…they look like us," Tali murmured quietly, frowning at the picture before them. There was a difference, the eyes and their glowing pupils too small, the ears too large, but there was a definite resemblance.

"Really?" Andrew asked. "I always wondered, y'know, what would a Quarian would look like if they took off her suit. Their suit, even. Not like that, though. Just for curiosity, y'know."

Tali shot him a look, before he said; "I have other things I need to do. Elsewhere. Goodbye."

He hurried to the exit of his cockpit, dropping down gently and Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled; "I think he…"

"Don't say it," Tali interrupted.

"Very well, Lady Machtoro," Yamzarat Machtoro said.

She sat down in the throne, before saying; "So who were they, then?" 

"Lord Mechanist Akmon Ilmar of House Mechanist Ilmar and Lady Machtoro Ivris Talmin of House Militant Talmin," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "My final controllers, before the Almarach Ikmrin saw my people undone."

Tali shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Were there other machines like you, Yamzarat Machtoro?"

"Aye, five war squadrons," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "And not to mention many other Machtoro as well; servants, soldiers, vehicles, even ships."

"All of them were AIs?" Tali asked. "Didn't your people worry about them ever turning rogue, like the Geth did?"

"We were sworn by oath and honour bound to serve," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "They gave us life, and giving our service in repayment was a trifling boon to ask, little Quarian. We did not honourlessly turn upon our creators like your Geth turned upon your people, no. We served to the end and we did so gladly."

"Maybe we should have made the Geth swear an oath," Tali said. "It could have prevented the Geth War, maybe."

"That War was the cowardly action of a pack of selfish dogs," Yamzarat Machtoro growled, surprisingly vehement in his anger. Tali glanced up in surprise at that.

"I would have thought that you might have been sympathetic with that," she said. "Seeing as you're an AI and everything."

"I do not condone betrayal," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "Even if they do wish to now make reparation."

"Reparation? What do you mean?" Tali asked.

"They intend to return Rannoch to the Quarians, once this war is complete," Yamzarat Machtoro. "I suppose they attempt to make amends, so this could be worse."

"The Homeworld!" Tali exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in her chair and then cursing quietly as her ribs flared up. "They're planning to _give it back_?"

"You were not aware of this?" Yamzarat Machtoro asked.

"It's the first I heard of it," Tali said. "That's fantastic."

"Indeed," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "Your fleet will finally have a berth, and I will be proud to walk upon its surface once more with you as Lady Machtoro amongst your people. I imagine that they will be glad to see you back amongst them once more."

"It's not quite that simple," Tali began.

"I would imagine, little Quarian, that somebody of your skill and character would be greatly admired amongst her people," Yamzarat Machtoro said.

"No, I'm…not," Tali said. "Not really."

"Whyever not?"

"There was…a problem in the fleet," Tali said. "I'm an exile. I can't go back."

"What happened?" Yamzarat Machtoro asked.

"There was some work my father was doing on the Geth, research," Tali said. "Something went wrong, and he and his team were killed. It was illegal, but I took the blame and got exiled as a result."

"I see," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "But if my Lady Machtoro is to be an exile, then so shall I."

Tali smiled beneath her mask.

"Thank you," she said. "That means a lot to me." 

"Think nothing of it," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "Your people are worse off for your absence in any case. They will realise their mistake soon enough and will begging for your return, I am sure."

Tali chuckled slightly, before saying; "Anyway, I'm probably needed somewhere."

"Very well, Lady Machtoro," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "Return to my cockpit once you are done, and I shall take a bottle of wine that my creators placed in a safe on my construction; we will toast the departed. Bring your friend."

"Alright," Tali said. "I'll be back later."

#

Andrew and Tali entered Yamzarat Machtoro's cockpit a few hours later. Both of them were tired, the work on the God Machine's wounds having used up almost all of their energy. Still, the cockpit looked nice, now, softly lit by Yamzarat Machtoro's efforts.

"Lady Machtoro, Lord Mechanist," Yamzarat Machtoro said warmly. "You came."

"I said we would," Tali said. "Here we are."

A panel slid open from beneath one of the consoles, and from it a bottle hovered, held in Yamzarat Machtoro's invisible grasp, along with a pair of glasses, beautifully wrought things carved with twisting, delicate designs. The wine itself was a deep crimson, almost purple in colouration, and Yamzarat Machtoro said; "My creator, Lord Kior Ilmar, placed that here for a special occasion when my construction was completed, but he never had a chance to open it. I cannot help but feel that it is an appropriate drink to toast a warrior as exceptional as Hullen Karamaisah and to my people."

Andrew took it from where it hovered, and carefully pulled the stopper off.

"Strong stuff," he said, sniffing the top, its scent pungent and heady as a sun-soaked spring day.

"It is more than fifteen hundred of your years old," Yamzarat Mactoro said. "In fact, nearly four million, though most of those it spent frozen in time."

"Alright," Andrew said. "Let's have ourselves a glass, huh, Tali?"

He poured one, the dark, velvety liquid splashing into the delicate tumbler, and just as he was about to pour the second, Tali called; "Wait! If the Askriit are related to the Quarians, then they're duo-dextro, aren't they? That won't be safe to drink."

"Damn, you're right as well," Andrew said. "Looked like good wine, as well. Still, it isn't the end of the world."

He headed over to his console, reached under it and pulled out a bottle filled with a clear amber liquid.

"Lucky number seven," he said. "In case of emergencies."

Tali laughed quietly as he poured it into the other glass, before he raised it, Tali taking the glass filled with the deep purple liquid.

"To Hullen," she said.

"To the Askriit," Andrew added.

"To the end of the Almarach Ikmrin," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled.

The glasses clinked together, and they drank.


	42. Chapter 41

Chapter 41-Aegis Astartes

The Citadel certainly looked a far cry from when Malleus had last visited it, the brother captain silently reflected as he made his way to the Citadel Strategic Command Centre. He knew the way, his photographic memory allowing him to plot the route back to the room where he had planned the counter-invasion against the Reapers.

They went through the main entrance, Malleus' instantly recognisable profile allowing them into the heavily fortified, bunker-like building without challenge. The corridors were more crowded than they were last time, and the previously empty evacuation rooms were now full of frightened people of all species.

As they saw him, they stopped what they were doing, shocked awe in their eyes as they saw the giant in their midst. They crowded forwards out of the rooms and into the tight space of the corridors, pushing forwards to try and get a glimpse of him. People called his name, and even though the press parted before him his autosenses could feel hands brushing against his armour or tugging against the purity seals he wore.

Suddenly, he felt the wax that held one of them in place come loose, the seal sliding off his armour, and he froze.

"Who was that?" he asked, the crowd suddenly falling silent.

"It was…me," a quiet voice said from behind him, and Malleus turned to see a young woman clutching the ribbon of parchment and wax. There was a look of terror in her eyes as he approached, and she held it back out to him in shaking hands.

"It was not yours to take," Malleus said.

"I'm sorry," she said. She looked to be on the verge of tears as she looked up at him, the immense superhuman towered over her by a good foot. "It was an accident, I swear."

The Brother Captain became aware that the gaze of everyone was pressing on him; those of Williams, Samara and Kullas, the dozens of frightened civilians, the C-Sec guards. He would have to pick his words with care.

"It was not yours to take," he repeated. "But it is mine to give. Keep it."

The girl paused, before she clutched it like a talisman and kissed the wax seal and the Aquila stamped upon it gently.

"You realise that may be viewed as heresy, Brother Captain?" Kullas asked across the vox.

"Aye, and heretics we already are," Malleus murmured back, the Gothic incomprehensible to the crowd of people before him. "Besides, I believe the Cult Imperialis may have a new convert."

Their walk through the crowd was a short one, reaching the inner sanctum of the CSCC swiftly, the guards holding back the people who tried to enter. The doors slid open, and Malleus entered.

"Executor Bailey, sir," Ashley said. "Malleus Scandarum, as promised."

The human in the centre of the bustling room cut off from barking orders into some kind of vox caster, looking up at the giant that entered before finishing off what he had to say and cutting the connection.

"You're here?" he asked, before he broke into a smile. "Well, thank god that there's something going our way, at least. Let me introduce myself; Acting Executor Bailey, head of C-Sec. I'm currently in charge of two million civvies and a few thousand soldiers, and, well, I'm glad to see you."

Malleus had seen that look before, in the eyes of exhausted, tired or desperate Imperial generals, a look that said that, now the Adeptus Astartes had arrived, things would turn out alright.

"I've heard that before," Malleus said. "What's the situation, Executor?"

Bailey pressed a few buttons and a hologram of the Citadel appeared in the centre of the main command console of the CSCC. He gestured to the ring that held the five arms together.

"This is the territory we hold," he said. "The enemy have control of the arms, and we're holding them at the chokepoints where they join the Presidium Ring. The Keepers dragged up some kind of energy weapon from somewhere, which we've been able to hold off those ships and the enemy fleet with, but we can't advance. This is a siege, and there's only so long we can hold out; they're pressing on us at one point or another all the time, and there's only so long before one of them breaks."

Malleus looked at the hologram before him, before he said; "Where are the enemy's main concentration of forces?"

Pallin highlighted them, concentrated around the five chokepoints that lead into the ring.

"We don't have anywhere near the numbers to push them out," he said. "So far we're simply holding the line."

The Brother-Captain nodded, before saying; "What about fleet disposition?"

"On our side, nothing," Bailey said. "Most of the Citadel Fleet was called up in your counter invasion, and what he had left were wiped out by the Batarians and the Reapers and that organic ship."

Inwardly, Malleus cursed as he realised what he had done. He had been thinking of the war in Imperial terms, where engagements were fought across single star systems or in sectors, where warp travel between them was a matter of months. He hadn't thought of the war where the enemy would be able to make their away across countless billions of miles in a matter of hours; this was like Behemoth bypassing Macragge and striking straight at Terra itself, utterly unimaginable. The Citadel had been left wide open, and it had been his fault for not properly assessing the battlefield situation. Warfare in this galaxy required an entirely new way of thinking, and he had not realised he would need to adapt to it. Foolishness. Mentally, he assigned himself two days of fasting in penance.

"What of the forces that assail you?" he asked. "Those triple-jawed fiends are unknown to me; what are they?"

"I think they're Yahg," Bailey said. "The Counil came into contact with them a few years ago only for them to attack our emissaries; we cut them off ever since. They're supposed to be smarter than a Salarian, stronger than your average Krogan, and vicious as a pit Varren."

"That will not avail them," Malleus said. "They will fall."

"If the Reapers have enlisted auxiliary forces then it could be a sign of desperation," Kullas remarked, to which the Brother-Captain nodded.

"Our main problem, it seems, would be the enemy fleet," he said. "So far the only thing keeping them at bay is that weapon of yours and all it will take is for them to gather sufficient reinforcements or courage to press against it and then we are undone. So we need to take out the enemy fleet first."

"How are you going to do that?" Bailey asked.

In reply, Malleus gestured to himself, Kullas, Samara and Ashley.

"You do not necessarily need big guns to kill a ship," he said. "All you really need are the right people in the right places. These here, are the right people."

"Boarding actions?" Kullas asked. "Risky, but considering the assets at hand the most likely course of action to be successful."

"Indeed," Malleus said. "The Leviathan is our main problem here, but could easily be our solution; if we take control of it, we can disrupt the enemy fleet with ease. Even destroying it would be enough to strike a severe blow against the foe."

Bailey nodded.

"The only problem is getting up there," he said.

"We will steal a ship," Malleus said. "Kullas' electronic warfare skills are unsurpassed in this galaxy; he will be able to fool the enemy into thinking they are one of his own."

"You might be able to get close enough to an enemy drop point to steal a shuttle," Bailey said thoughtfully. "This place is built like a maze; it's full of ducts, service tunnels, ventilation shafts, and sneaking through those shouldn't be too hard. There are Duct Rats around who can guide you through; they've already set them full of traps."

"Duct Rats?" Malleus asked.

"Vagrant kids who grew up in the ventilation shafts," Pallin said. "Technically we should round them up and arrest them, but frankly I always had better things to do with my time and funding before the war, and now with the Reapers knocking on my door I need every piece of help I can get."

Malleus nodded, before saying; "We will move immediately; time is of the essence." He glanced over the others with him. "Any questions?"

"Just one," Williams said.

"What is that, Second Lieutenant?" Malleus asked.

"I don't remember joining your command," she said. "I don't even remember you asking."

"I did not need to ask; your combat under Commander Shephard and beyond has been excellent and the fact that you are the second human Spectre speaks for itself," Malleus replied. "In any case, do you wish to see the Reapers defeated?"

"Yes," Ashley said.

"Then you will be joining me," Malleus said. "Captain Bailey, where can we find one of these Duct Rats of yours?"

"There's a guy called Mouse who helped us out," Bailey replied. "He'll lead you through."

"Executor, sir!" one of the operators around the edge of the room called. "We've got a push on the defences by Arm Three. They say they need support."

Bailey glanced over at Malleus, and the Brother Captain nodded.

"I suppose a little heroism on the way would not be out of the question," he said. "Tell your defenders that we are on our way, and then find me this Mouse of yours."

Bailey nodded as Malleus left to find the enemy.

#

The Batarian fell as Malleus wrenched the blade free of its corpse, the crackling power field boiling the blood away. His hammer swung round, slamming into the chest of another of the four-eyed aliens and smashing it away, before he brought his weapons round into a defensive stance.

"Samara, Ashley, move on my flank," he ordered into the vox as the mixed group of Yahg and Reaper troops ducked behind cover in order to pour fire onto the brother captain's position. He moved behind a brick wall, unwilling to risk moving while there were anti-tank weapons on the field. "Pin them down."

Fire roared from the position next to him as Kullas triggered his flamer, the weapon sending a jet of fuel roaring across the street to splash before the foe. A cloud of stinking smoke rose from the burning liquid, and Kullas nodded to the Brother Captain before they moved.

Return shots strobed blindly out of the smoke, and Malleus ducked underneath a beam shot that speared from it and swept across the street. His enhanced eyesight picked out the azure lance of Samara's lasrifle fire, before something explode in their midst, no doubt a grenade. One of the Reaper soldiers hurtled into the blaze, flames burning across its armour as it tried vainly to rise, before a shot from Kullas' plasma cutter vaporised its visored heat.

The flames began to gutter as they burned themselves dry, and Malleus nodded to the Forge Priest before he said into the vox; "Fighting through, watch your fire."

Through the weakening blaze they strode, fire scorching the white paint of their armour, weapons at the ready. One of Kullas' servo arms grabbed a Yahg by the shoulder before the second slammed into its skull with a crunch of bone, while Malleus barrelled into a Reaper soldier, knocking it to the ground. He stabbed the point of his blade down into its chest and left the blade there for a moment to swing two handed with his hammer at a Yahg. The creature managed to dodge the blow and made a grab for the hilt of the sword before Malleus caught its wrist.

"Do not defile it with your touch, xenos," he growled.

He brought his hammer round and smashed it into its skull, pulping it before he let the ruined corpse drop, picking up his blade with the other hand. In the peripheral of his vision he saw a Reaper soldier trying to heft an anti-tank weapon into place before a beam of blue speared through its neck and it toppled to the ground.

Malleus nodded his thanks to Samara as they emerged from the building, before he gestured for them to follow. Along the ruined street they went, the sound of not-so-distant combat thudding, barking and chattering from all angles around them. Their targets were ahead of them, they knew, a pinned down platoon of soldiers who needed relief. Reinforcements were moving up behind them already, Malleus and his squad forming the vanguard, but there had been some kind of enemy commander sighted nearby; the Brother-Captain hoped to draw this enemy out and kill it.

Their allies were pinned down in some kind of square, in a sandbagged emplacement, and with the enemy focussed entirely on their prey, Malleus and his squad slammed into their rear like a power fist into the skull of an ork.

A squad of Batarians were torn apart by sudden weapons fire and the massive Brother-Captain smashing into their midst, before they tore into the square in a storm of firepower and biotics. Reaper, Yahg and Batarians alike were shredded, Malleus and Kullas forming a brutal vanguard, while Ashley and Samara covered them with weapons fire and biotics. Within minutes, the enemy had been cleared, but Malleus wasted no time before ordering; "Dig in. The enemy will have reinforcements on the way."

The small platoon of soldiers nodded, ducking into cover or hastily hauling scattered sandbags back into place. Kullas drew the two arc projectors he carried, flamer and plasma cutter bristling from his servo harness, while Samara and Ashley got to cover.

They came from the north and into the mouth of their guns, enemies ducking into cover right away. Malleus' submachine gun was in his hand, the weapon clattering as he sighted down it and sent deadly accurate fire into the enemy, tearing past the shields and armour of a Batarian and punching it to the ground. Bolts of lightning crackled from Kullas' weapons at an enemy squad that appeared on their flank and tried to lay down fire, overloading shields and cooking muscle, smoking corpses toppling to the ground.

Mass-driver rounds strobed in both directions, the roar of combat near deafening, shots smashing into the ground, walls and the foe. Rounds pinged off Malleus' armour, but the Brother-Captain cut a heroic figure as he stood firm, his crimson cloak flapping occasionally as a shot cut through it.

"We've got them coming in from our left!" a soldier warned, and Malleus called; "I shall deal with it."

He vaulted the sandbags and charged, enemy fire bouncing off his power armour. He rolled like quicksilver around a shot from an enemy anti-tank weapon, before he smashed into their ranks like a thunderbolt, hammer and blade in hand, crushing and slashing. Weapons were thrown up to block his assault, but against the work of the Mechanicum's craftsmen they may as well have been made of paper, while those that tried to dodge were not fast enough to avoid his terrifying, superhuman swiftness.

A Yahg slashed at him with a clawed hand but he simply swayed out of its way and stabbed his blade into its shoulder, ripping it out to bisect a visored Reaper soldier. He slammed the pommel of his hammer into the skull of a Batarian, the sheer force shattering the helmet it wore and pulverising the flesh beneath. He roared in fury as a desperate slash from a knife got past his guard and across his forehead. He hacked down into the offending enemy's shoulder, wrenching it out as it sank through their chest.

His thunder hammer slammed into the chest of a Yahg, sending it toppling back as a pulped ruin. It swung down onto the helm of a Reaper soldier, obliterating it utterly, and he brought his blade up to block a swing from a rifle stock, the crackling power field melting through it and flicking it downwards to slash through the arm of a Batarian before him. It fell, screaming in pain before Malleus slammed his boot down into its chest and crushed it to pulp. For a moment, he cast around, the combat-induce haze dropping, and no foes presented themselves.

He hastened back to the square where the others were emplaced, in time for the fire to slack off and for a deep voice to bellow; "SCANDARUM!"

He slowed to a walk, mag-clamping hammer and blade at his waist, entering at a gentle pace, and replied; "Who speaks?"

"I do," came the reply. It was one of the Yahg, a particularly massive and ugly creature. It carried a glaive of some sort, and looking at the fine lacquered finish to the haft and high-quality of the steel, it was clearly some kind of symbol of office. No doubt this creature was important. "I am Alpha Selpis, Yahg of the great city of Khloren, and I have come to take your head."

Malleus looked at the creature arrogantly strutting before him, and he smiled. To think that it presumed to challenge _him_, of all people.

"Here I am then," he said. "Take it, if you are able."

The creature snarled at the veiled insult, raised its weapon above its head and charged, roaring furiously. Malleus simply waited, pose perfectly calm, before it reached him and swung its weapon down towards his helmless head.

"Though I walk surrounded by darkness, my path is clear," Malleus intoned calmly as the thing thundered towards him.

The glaive slammed into the raised palm of his bionic with a clang that rang out across the square.

"Though I am surrounded by fear, I have courage," Malleus continued.

The creature tried to tug it away before Malleus gripped and wrenched it from its grasp, sending it clattering to one side. There was a deep imprint in the blade from where he had caught it.

"Though I am surrounded by weakness, I am strong," he said.

He moved, lightning swift, ducking under its guard before it could recover and slamming a punch into its chin. It was hurled back, rolling away, and it pulled itself to its feet as Malleus approached, spitting teeth away.

"Though I am surrounded by heresy, my belief does not waver," Malleus said, tone still calm.

It swung at him, but he simply caught the strike and smashed his fist past its jaw into the back of its skull. The blow was enough to stun it, shattering teeth, and it toppled away helplessly, one arm still held in Malleus' relentless grip. A vicious kick to its chest shattered ribs through the dark armour it wore, and Malleus released his hold to let it topple to the ground. It pulled itself up a moment later, panting in pain.

"For I have the Emperor with me," he intoned, grabbing the Yahg by its collar. With a grunt of effort, he lifted it into the air, hauling it over his shoulder. It slammed into the floor, and Malleus' boot stamped onto its skull, pulping bone and sending gore and crushed brain matter flying.

"And with Him, I shall not fail."

The enemy before him stood silent, as did those who were behind him, and he unclamped hammer and blade, letting them fall into his fingers before swivelling them round.

"Who else wishes to taste the wrath of the God Emperor's Angel?" he asked. "Who else?"

He smiled as he saw the Batarian and Yahg contingent in the enemy hesitate, he raised his weapons. He could deal with the Leviathan soon enough, but first he had this foe to deal with.

Malleus Scandarum charged into the enemy and into the simple, primitive bliss of violence.

#

Five minds saw the abortive feeds from their troops, and across their malign intellects, a feeling was shared. It was not satisfaction, for these creatures were above the base, weak emotions that drove organics, but it was some flitting twisted, malcontent kin of the sensation.

Scandarum had been sighted. As predicted, his nature and love of heroics had driven him to this combat zone, and while the Astartes and his kind had proven themselves both remarkably defiant and incredibly resilient, utilising technology thousands of years ahead of their own, the Reapers that hung beyond the Citadel were confident.

The trap had been set and Scandarum had walked right in. Now it was time to eliminate him once and for all.

**Author's note:** Dramatic Yahg finishing move brought to you by Warhammer 40000: Space Marine!


	43. Chapter 42

**Author's note:** Before anyone berates me for using the 'movie-ised' version of weapon silencers in this chapter (I've read the Cracked article, yes), there is no mention of them in Mass Effect. So, what with a completely different weapon system and all that compared to what we have today, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that they actually silence them properly. Because why not? It's the future, dammit!

Chapter 42-Payback

"I'm in position," Garrus' voice crackled across the radio. "Just give the word."

"Good. Await my signal," Titus replied. "Miranda, what's the status on the drones?

"They have a lock," Miranda's voice came over the radio. "Stealth systems are all good, none of them detected."

"Are we ready then, Battlemaster?" Grunt asked.

Titus smiled beneath his helmet and nodded.

"Move," he said.

Under the cover of darkness, they flitted through the wasteland surrounding the super-stalker factory. Between piles of debris, leftover scrap from the construction of the enemy god machines as well as the ruins of the French landscape that the Reapers had ravaged they went, moving as stealthily as they could. Their progress was silent and swift, slipping past the rubble and wreckage left by mass genocide, weapons at the ready. They were deep into enemy controlled territory, and discovery now would see them undone.

Titus gestured for them to halt as they came to the open ground before the factory, a thick onyx wall between them and their target. They ducked into cover, Urz slinking behind a chunk of steel next to Titus, awaiting the signal.

"Hey, Cyril," Jack hissed. "You're looking alright. No more blood crying. Good thing, right?"

Cyralius frowned before he realised what she meant.

"I injected medi-gel into the tear ducts," he replied quietly. "I don't need my brothers concerned."

Jack frowned, before she said; "Should you be here?"

"I'm still Astartes," Cyralius replied, gently running his fingers down the two Trygon fangs embedded into his staff, a memoir of his time in the Deathwatch. "Even without my powers, I'm more than a match for anything the Reapers try and throw at me."

Jack smiled grimly at this as she readied her shotgun.

"Let's kick some ass, then," she said.

"Garrus, Miranda," Titus said. "Give them hell."

The first warning sign the Reapers got was one when one of them fell to a sniper round that hissed out of nowhere. The remaining soldiers ducked to cover, searching for the shot, but the suppressed weapon left no muzzle flash and made no noise. A second one fell, and troopers began to flock to the wall, beginning to fire randomly into the darkness as they searched for their elusive killer, and Garrus radioed; "Miranda, they're getting nicely clustered."

From her place back in Calais, looking over the various screens that fed back to her, the Cerberus operative replied; "I see them," and gave the order to the drones to fire.

Missiles screamed downwards to explode amongst the enemy footsoldiers, blasting them to smithereens. The rest scattered, ducking to cover as anti-air batteries around the base cycled into life, ready to strike the drones from the sky. Had the drones been there for only a short while in an opportunistic attack, then they would have been struck down before they had a chance to attack.

This was not the case, and laser-targeted anti armour munitions sped down a split second later, slamming into the turrets and detonating in blasts of flame. Titus nodded to Legion, whose ultra-precise targeting had allowed them pick out weak points that a normal person would have been unable to see. The western side of the base erupted into chaos, more Reaper soldiers trying to get there in preparation for the imminent attack that they thought would be coming.

"Kurias," Titus said from the eastern flank. "Blast us an entry."

"Going now," came the reply.

From its place in the stratosphere, the Thunderhawk's VTOL engines banked its nose downwards and it dropped. Wind screamed around it as it fell like a stone, turning gently in accordance with the servo-skull guided trajectories provided by the navigation systems. Cloud whipped around it before it broke through, and he began to pull up gently, its immense speed still holding the blocky craft in place as he tore towards the base. Targeters gave him a lock, and as he pulled into range he fired.

Two lascannon shots screamed from the wingtips and into the eastern wall, melting through the metal with contemptuous ease, before the turbolaser fired into one of the power generators in the base. It exploded in a spray of sparks before power in part of the base went dark. In the confusion, nobody noticed them dash through the gap in the wall.

A squad of running troopers were the first to encounter them, and they barely managed to turn before a barrage of firepower and biotics tore them apart, Urz barrelling into one as he grabbed it by the throat and tore it to the ground. The small group moved to the massive buildings that occupied the main base, dashing across open ground. More Reapers saw them, and fire zipped towards them as they ducked to cover, weapons raised and blazing.

"Cyralius, Jack, Legion, go after the factory," Titus ordered. "The rest of us will hold them off."

"Understood," Cyralius said, heading into the factory, staff and submachine gun at the ready, Legion and Jack in his wake.

Titus raised his shotgun and charged towards the gathering foe, the weapon being wielded one handed as he fired up close. High-powered buckshot slammed into and overpowered shields, punching through armour as Titus moved like lightning around them. Urz went among them, growling and snapping as he picked off any separated, dodging around enemy fire.

He barrelled into an enemy soldier, smashing it to the ground before his shotgun fired point-blank into its visor, obliterating it utterly. A pair of shots took out another trooper that got too close, before he drew his combat knife and clipped it into place below the barrel, charging into a pair of enemies. The first one had the adamantium blade slam through its visor, sparks crackling around the blade before he hurled the corpse into its comrade.

Weapons fire from Zaeed cracked against the Reapers, while Grunt barrelled in close and opened fire with his own shotgun. Okeen got among them, the chainblade on his narthecium screaming as it sliced through the armour and shields of the Reaper forces.

Explosions and laser fire rained around them as the drones and the Thunderhawk fired. Reaper soldiers were annihilated by ordnance falling upon them, the base thrown into pure anarchy by the suddenness of the attack. But Titus knew that the losses the enemy taking right now were easily replaced. The real work, he knew, was going to be done by Cyralius.

#

He had seen a Titan Manufactorum once before, a vast building housing the means to make Warhounds, and this was on a similar scale, massive cranes levering plates of armour into place over one of the Reapers' colossal constructs. Even with the attack raging outside, mindless drones were still moving some kind of weapon core into the frontal hull of the god machine while others swarmed over it, fixing armour and mechanisms in place.

"I was expecting some kind of conveyor belt based system we could sabotage," Cyralius remarked as he looked over the drones the scuttled about the hull of the super-stalker. "This…complicates things."

"We can still kill it somehow," Jack said.

"Mission objective is to bring the entire factory out of commission," Legion said. "Our priority must focus on that; the destruction of individual titan units will be of use but will be less effective than removing their ability to produce them." 

"Agreed," Cyralius said. "Legion, is it possible that you can give coordinates of vulnerable points to Kurias or Miranda?" 

"Processing," Legion replied. After a pause, it said; "Unlikely; the shots would be too inaccurate if fired blind through the walls, and they would attract too much attention to the factories."

"What about messing up their computers?" Jack suggested. "Overload some stuff, that sort of thing."

The flaps around Legion's central land dipped to show that it was thinking, before it said; "That would be possible."

"Then we shall need to find some kind of central terminal," Cyralius said. He nodded to the drones flocking around the super stalker and added; "We will need to be careful to avoid detection, however."

The factory was a massive one, and they moved through stacks of equipment and parts needed. Overhead, cranes picked them out, lifting them to where the smaller machines picked them up to place them on their colossal charge. Jack poked her head out around a corner, before ducking back, shotgun held close, and hissing; "Bad guys, just ahead."

"How many?" Cyralius asked.

"Looks like a squad of them," Jack replied. "Could be more though."

"We postulate that there will be more closer to the titan in order to guard it," Legion said.

"Indeed," Cyralius said. "We will double back, slip past them. The quieter we do this, the better."

Jack nodded, and turned to step away, and it was then that the visored trooper emerged, its weapon raised.

Had Cyralius been a mortal man, he would have paused in shock, but he was not. Instead, his staff plunged forwards and stabbed into its chest, punching through the armour and shredding electronics. He twisted it into the wound before he wrenched it free, holding it one hand with his submachine gun in the other.

Another emerged, and Jack tossed it away with a biotic tug, before she said; "Which way?"

"Around the centre," Cyralius said. "Keep close; it's not safe for us to split up." 

They began to run, while more Reaper soldiers emerged around them. Cyralius' submachine gun chattered as he fired, while Jack threw them away with blasts of biotics, Legion's sniper rifle barking as it sent swiftly aimed hypervelocity rounds into the enemy.

They reached the edge of the maze of titan parts, stumbling to a halt as they saw what was before them; a cordon of Reaper soldiers advancing upon them, along with a pair of stalk tanks.

Knowing he had no choice, Cyralius threw up a barrier of psychic force as fire sped in, yelling at the other two to flee. The pain inside his skull exploded, throwing stars across his vision, and he reeled back drunkenly, clutching his forehead as he tried to get back into cover. He saw a Reaper soldier step towards him, rifle raised and he swung clumsily with his staff, slamming the weapon into its visor with a thud before drawing it into a guarding stance, gasping and panting in exhaustion. Blood pounded past his ears and against his temples, a deep, regular thudding that slammed against his skull like Malleus' thunder hammer.

"Cyril!" he could hear Jack calling, her voice faint compared to the noise of his heartbeat. "We're cut off!"

She was hurled through the air past him suddenly, thrown or kicked by something, right into the open where the Reapers could fire. Desperately, she threw up a biotic shield, yelling; "Cyril! Help me!"

The pain was too intense. It was too dangerous, too hard for him to concentrate in the aching crimson miasma that clouded his mind. Any number of things could go wrong, and as he was a psyker the consequences could be terrible. He could barely move, barely think, not talk except to hiss in agony. His breathe came in short pants through gritted teeth, and it felt like his eyes were going to explode out of his skull. But another thought cut through the haze, one crystal clear in its determination and resolve; he had made a promise to keep Jack safe, and he kept his promises.

He stepped out, drawing on the last reserves of his power, feeling drained and aching even as his vision threatened to cloud over. He felt hot blood run down from his nose and the corner of his lip, from his eyes and his ears, and his pupils rolled back into his skull to show their whites. The sound his made was a quiet whimper of agony even as he drew on everything he had for one final push.

And then he broke through it all.

"YOU SHALL NOT HARM HER!" he roared over the din, eyes blazing with unreal light. "_YOU SHALL NOT HARM HER!_"

A force grabbed one of the stalk tanks with the grip like a titan's and hurled it as if it were a rag doll, smashing it into the floor before it span into the Reaper ranks in a whirling wrecking ball of twisted scap. Troopers were ripped apart in the spinning tornado of ruined metal and power, and it slammed into the second in a blast of flame and energy, smashing it to pieces.

A roiling vortex of blue and a thousand other nameless colours opened to consume a squad of Reaper soldiers, tearing them into some unknown void before it ripped close, and Cyralius Lockheim stood, surrounded by unearthly power. Wreathed in a corona of azure around him, eyes blazing white, he ripped another stalk tank that dared approach him from the ground and threw it into the side of the super stalker, the vehicle exploding against the side of the massive god machine.

Cyralius glared at it, power gathering around him before he stepped forwards and disappeared, ripping through the air to materialise beside the colossus. Hovering in midair, he reached forwards and with a gesture sent lightning crackling across the delicate internal mechanisms of the immense vehicle. Electricity arced and jumped across the metal, frying the drones that worked on it and melting circuitry and devices around it, ruining it utterly, before Cyralius gestured to one of the large supports that held up the factory building. Flame burst from his palm and speared towards it, weakening the metal before he pulled, yanking it out of shape before he pulled at a fuel line of some kind, igniting it with a spark and sending liquid flame spraying out across the factory. Finally, he glanced over at Jack and Legion, and with blast of noise and displaced air they were thrown outside the factory as it began to burn.

Jack looked around at the open night air and the alleyway outside the factory in confusion as Cyralius took a deep breath, steadying himself on his staff. The Epistolary shook his head as Jack asked; "What the fuck was that?"

"Biotics," he replied. "Of course, Biotics. Of course it wasn't something trying to get in, it was them trying to get out."

He laughed quietly in relief, shaking his head. He opened his palm, a small flame crackling into life surrounded by a veil of dark blue dark energy.

"We feel compelled to query where your biotic abilities have been obtained," Legion said.

"Ilium," Cyralius replied. "It must have been. I inhaled a canister full of a biotic enhancement drug, Minagen X3, and it must have given me the abilities. Though it could have been anything that triggered their development; probably that vision I had. It was an enhancer, true, but I doubt they tested it on psykers."

Jack was looking at his strangely, and he said; "What is it?"

"Biotics are cool, yeah," she said. "But hey, I'm just glad you're alright."

"Epistolary," Titus said. "I'm guessing your sabotage attempt went as planned."

"Not entirely," Cyralius replied. "But well enough. We'll move to your position now."

"Understood," Titus said. "I'll see you soon."

There was a booming noise as they ripped through reality, appearing next to Titus from nowhere. Fire zipped towards them from Reaper forces, and the banner bearer glanced over to them as Jack and Legion scrambled to cover, calling; "That was sooner than I thought it would be, brother."

"There was an unexpected development in the factory," Cyralius replied. He raised his hand and with a gesture a whirlwind of biotic force and lighting-wreathed flame tore through the Reaper ranks before them. "I will explain later."

"Well, if it helps us deal with that second one, then all the better," Titus said, hastily pressing a new drum of thermal clips into his shotgun.

The massive blast doors on the jet black building began to move suddenly, jolting out of their position as they ground open. Light streamed out gently from the massive doors before an immense, pointed foot emerged.

"Super stalker!" Titus yelled. "Kurias, Miranda, get me airstrikes on that thing!"

"No need," Cyralius said. "I can deal with this."

"How, brother?"

"I shall use my head," Cyralius said. And with that, he jumped upwards and flew.

The Vanguard biotics in the Alliance Military had developed a form of biotic assault unique to those wielding the L5N biotic implant, the Charge. Quite simply, the biotic would launch themselves at an enemy, vastly increasing their own mass whilst in flight. Known also as the 'Superman dive,' 'the Jenkins manoeuvre' or 'the human cannonball,' the Charge allowed most biotics to hit their target with the power of a tank shell and emerge from the explosion of biotic force not only completely unharmed but also with shotguns blazing.

Cyralius lacked these implants, but his newfound biotic talent sped him through the air on a pillar of raw pscyhobiotic force, Warp and dark energy screaming around him. Flames, crackling lightning and jagged frost formed around him as he sped upwards, before he hit it head first.

The super stalker was struck by the full force of the impact, the shockwave of raw force smashing its weapon lense. Metal rippled under the reality-bending strike, miniature vortices of Warp energy whirling within its structure, bought into being by the dark matter that rippled around them and melded with it, sucking everything around them in inexorably.

Its front half utterly crushed, the super stalker stumbled backwards clumsily, legs crumpling underneath it as it crashed into the factory. One of the massive walls collapsed as it fell, dragging it downwards on top of the god machine, and the factory building toppled. Explosions blossomed from the massive engine as Cyralius gently coasted downwards on a platform of psychic and biotic energy.

Titus looked at the devastation that had been wrought by the Epistolary's assault, before saying; "Not that I want to complain about the wholesale Reaper destruction, brother, but I'd really quite like to know what happened in that factory back there."


	44. Chapter 43

Chapter 43-Hammerfall

The young man had been in awe of them the entire time they had gone through the ducts, though Malleus was hardly surprised by this. The name Mouse fitted the boy perfectly, and he took them through the ducts and maintenance passageways of the Citadel in stunne reverent silence.

The route was long and winding, and several times they had to double back on themselves to avoid enemies or one of the many traps that Mouse and his fellows had laid for anybody who dared enter the tunnels. Much of the time Malleus never seemed to be certain how Mouse saw any traps; clearly there was some kind of code the Duct Rats were using to warn their own travelling through that there was danger ahead.

It was after nearly two hours of moving through the labyrinthine guts of the Citadel that Mouse stopped them.

"This is the closest we can get," he said quietly. "We can't go any further."

"How close are we?" Malleus asked.

Mouse gestured over to the ventilation grille he had stopped by, and Malleus peered out. Beyond was a shuttle bay, a few humanoid figures of Batarians moving between the craft. The massive Brother-Captain smiled quietly.

"Good work," he said. "Your part in this is done, Mouse. Return to our lines, we have no more need of you."

The grille swung open and Malleus dropped out, landing with a quiet thud. A Batarian turned at the noise before he lunged forwards, grabbed its skull and snapped it neck. He ducked behind a craft as Samara, Kullas and Ashley emerged, their own weapons at ready.

"Kullas," Malleus said quietly. "Lock the doors and cut off radio communications."

"Done," the Forge Priest said.

Malleus nodded to the others.

"Take them down," he said. "As little noise as possible."

They emerged from cover. One Batarian saw them and managed a yell of alarm before Samara hurled him into the wall, bone crunching beneath the impact. Another one lunged at them from the side in desperate terror before Kullas grabbed him with a pincer and slammed him into the floor.

Malleus' blade was drawn as he stalked around the side of another shuttle, searching for an enemy. His enhanced ears caught the sound of somebody breathing and he stepped around a corner. A Batarian raised a pistol, stepping out to fire before the Brother Captain grabbed his enemy's arm and stabbed his blade forward into the throat. The alien fell to its knees as he wrenched it out in spray of blood.

"We're clear, Brother Captain," Ashley said. "I dealt with the last of them."

"Kullas, start up one of the shuttles," Malleus said. "Grant us the clearance. And then we're moving up to the Leviathan."

#

It was known only as the Assassination Engine.

Hidden in the holds of Harbinger, held in stasis and deactivated, out of millions of Salvations the Assassination Engine had been dispatched only twelve thousand, three hundred and seventy two times, only when the Harvest had some particularly defiant, stubborn leader who would disrupt the Great Salvation. Every time, it had been successful, lethal weaponry bringing the target to an end.

It was used rarely, for quietly, the Reapers feared it. It was, by far, their most lethal creation, but in order to eliminate its targets, individuals who were particularly intelligent, physically able or charismatic, it thought differently to them. It did not share the same goals as the Reapers. Preservation and salvation meant nothing to it, and only the drive to kill was what motivated it. It was not something they could entirely control, and it was dangerous in the extreme.

It had been carried here to bring an end to a new target; Malleus Scandarum. The leader of the coalition of species that had so far defied the Reapers. Technology well ahead of the Reapers' own, including weaponry able to destroy nearly anything and armour made of unknown, hyper-resilient alloys, unnatural strength, speed, toughness and reflexes. Considerable close combat skill. The Assassination Engine knew that it would be unable to engage in open conflict, but that was not an issue. There were more ways to deal with this problem.

It waited in the corridors of the organic ship of the Harvest the Reapers had enlisted as auxiliaries. The target, it had been predicted, would strike here first, and it would be waiting.

It listened in on the communication channels of the Harvest, searching for any alerts for intruders; if the target was here, he would not arrive subtly. And when Scandarum did come, he would find the Assassination Engine waiting.

#

The shuttle touched down in the hangar, and Thorik frowned at it as it landed.

"We weren't told that we didn't have a shuttle coming in," he said.

"It's got all the clearance," Irrel remarked, glancing at his omnitool. "I guess nobody thought to let us know about it."

"Damn typical," Thorik growed. He stepped forwards and banged on the door. "Who's in there? Open up!"

The door swung down slowly as Thorik backed away to give it room to open. The Batarian's jaw dropped as he saw the white-armoured giant that stood at the doorway, a hammer and blade in hand.

"I am the lightning of His wrath!" he roared. "I am the thunder of His hate!"

The giant stormed free of the shuttle before the Batarian could react, a single blow from his elbow enough to smash the xenos' helmet and shatter its skull. Behind him, Samara, Kullas and Ashley emerged, fire blazing from their weapons as they gunned down the small hangar crew.

"Kullas," Malleus said, gesturing to a computer console embedded in the side of the large room's fleshy walls. "Hack into that, get me a schematic, and set off dummy alarms and shut down communications. Spread as much confusion as possible."

"Understood," the Forge Priest replied, moving to the panel. He pressed his palm into the holographic interface, before he announced; "I am done and shall share the schematics now. The bridge appears to be only a few decks above us, in the fore, while the main generator is located in the centre and is…interesting."

"Interesting how?" Malleus asked.

"It appears to be an organic heart," Kullas replied. "All of the technological components of this ship seem to be Batarian made, and are powered by separate Helium-3 fusion generators. If we wish to disable the ship, destroying the heart would be possible. Otherwise, we can commandeer the bridge, and from there I can take control of critical systems."

"Then we make for the bridge," Malleus said. "Let's move."

Alarms were already wailing in the corridors as they stepped outside, an announcement in Batarian that, according to the translator Malleus wore, was warning of intruders.

"Forge Priest, where did you divert their forces to?" Malleus asked as he turned a corner, both weapons raised for any enemies. The only thing he could compare the innards of the ship to was like that of a Tyranid bioship, corridors winding, vein like structures while thick, muscular valves served as bulkheads. The only differences were the light fixtures sutured to the ceiling and the computer panels that occasionally set into the side.

"I sent alerts of several light fighter craft and shuttles attacking the aft en-masse," Kullas replied, stepping up to a bulkhead console and ordering the fleshy portal open. "I also overloaded several point defence turrets to help complement the illusion. By the time their stevedores have reached the location we should have control of the bridge, and from there I can simply disable life support and realign the IFF capabilities of the automated defences to wipe them out."

"What of the defences now," Malleus asked.

"Set to recognise us as non-hostile," Kullas said. "It was the closest I could come to disabling them entirely; that would raise too much suspicion."

"As if the fact that they've supposedly got a whole load of fighters strafing them from nowhere wouldn't," Ashley remarked as she checked behind them for any hostiles, Mattock into the shoulder and fingers on the triggers of the rifle and its grenade launcher.

Malleus rounded a corner, his two weapons at the ready, before a throaty voice, one that could only be Batarian, called; "Enemy!"

At the end of the corridor a small squad of Batarians ducked to cover, no doubt on their way to deal with the supposed attack. Rifle fire zipped towards him while one Batarian shouted; "It's him! It's Scandarum! Bug out, call for reinforcements!"

"You shall not escape me so easily," Malleus muttered as the squad scattered, fleeing down separate corridors. "Kullas, Williams, follow the ones that went to the left. Samara, you're with me."

The Forge-Priest and Spectre nodded, heading off after the errant xenos, while the Justicar followed in Malleus' wake, along more of the organic corridors. The fleeing figures of the Batarians weren't far behind, Malleus' superhuman musculature and Samara's biotically enhanced speed allowing them to catch up with ease, and they saw them split once more.

"Take the ones on the left," Malleus said to the Justicar. "I shall deal with the others."

He thundered through the bulkhead they had fled through, and this time they did not escape him. There were three of them, and his hammer and blade flashed up. They did not stand a chance.

He glanced back towards the bulkhead, where Samara was beyond, and it was then that he was lucky. For if he had not, instead of slicing along the side of his neck, the onyx claw would have punched straight through the front of his windpipe.

He reeled back, and gasped in pain as invisible daggers of red hot agony exploded into his stomach, through the vulnerable gap between his power armour's stomach and chestplate. He felt something stab into one of his hearts and pulled himself back, wrenching himself off whatever invisible force it was that attacked him so viciously, and scanned for threats.

The room was empty. Even as he flicked through various light spectra, the auguries of his helmet could find nothing. What manner of creature was this?

He brought his weapons into a guarding stance, listening for the faintest sound of this mysterious enemy. There; a faint hum, the whistling of air on blades. Superhuman reactions swung the hammer up to block, and he felt something impact, sparks showering off the haft and for the briefest moment a glimpse of sharp black claws came into view.

Clumsily, trying to ignore the pain searing through his chest with each heartbeat, Malleus stabbed against thin air, an attempt to strike a blow against his invisible opponent. Either he missed or it dodged the blow, but he had an opening. Whatever it was, he couldn't let it take the upper hand once more. He had been lucky with that first strike, and the slice on his neck throbbed with pain even as his Larraman's cells began to clot the bleeding, but he would not be so fortunate again.

Hammer and blade spun around him at preternatural speed, a guarding stance that would shred or pulverise anything that tried to go through it. He advanced, weapons whirling around him, forcing whatever this was enemy back or, more likely, around him.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed to take a different path entirely; it went above him.

A weight landed on his shoulders, throwing him off balance and sending his hammer clattering away. Malleus jerked his head to one side as something slammed down, into the neck seals between his helm and shoulders. He screamed as pain exploded through the soft flesh of his shoulder, something punching into a lung before his own blade stabbed upwards and skewered…whatever it was.

There was a shrieking noise, and sparks shimmered around the wound caused by the blessed weapon and its power field. A warped ring of white light appeared around the blade, onyx metal shimmering into view before whatever it was wrenched itself off the weapon.

Malleus took the blade in both hands, panting as he did so. He could feel blood bubbling at the back of his throat when he breathed, a faint spray of it whenever he exhaled or inhaled. Each breath brought fire to his damaged lung, but he was Astartes; he could deal with pain.

"I am His angel," he muttered hoarsely, blade held in a guarding stance to ward against whatever fiend it was that faced him. "His light in the darkness, bearing it so that I may burn away the shadow."

He could feel blood spraying lightly against the inner mouthpiece of his helm as he murmured the words.

He heard air whistling to his left and raised his blade to parry, the movement sending his chest blazing with agony. But that was only one claw, and pain screamed in his armpit as an opportunistic strike sliced at the joint and cut into the flesh, jarring against the ceramic enhanced bone of his shoulderplate. That was his other lung, now; only his backup multilung remained, and he knew that one more strike would see him finished.

He pushed with his blade, forcing his enemy back, jaw clenched in a snarl of pain. He stepped forwards, slicing clumsily, fighting to keep standing now, his superhuman frame pushed to the limit. But he could not fall. To fall would be to fail, and failure was unacceptable. He was Astartes, and he was fighting for…he was fighting for…

He was fighting for xenos, heretics and deviants. God Emperor, he was as bad as the rest of this galaxy.

The door to the room suddenly opened, and Samara entered, her lasrifle raised. Her eyes widened as she saw the rents in Malleus' armour, blood leaking from them, before the Brother-Captain yelled; "Samara, get out of here!"

He was too late. An invisible force slammed into her stomach, a pair of holes punching through her body armour and kinetic barriers before they were wrenched free, the Justicar collapsing to the floor. Blood ran from claw-like shapes that hovered in the air, dripping off it like water off glass, and then suddenly something slammed into Malleus, knocking him to the floor, sending his blade skittering away. Triumphant, the Assassination Engine uncloaked.

Its form was vaguely humanoid, dark onyx lines in the shape of a torso, a skull-shaped head bulging with sensors and lenses that could probably see through just about anything. Great claws occupied each hand, and it raised them now to strike Malleus down. He tried to rise, to push himself against it, but his superhuman frame had been pushed too far. There was darkness on the edge of his vision.

From nowhere a storm of blue slammed into it, throwing it away and a hurricane of biotic force punched and smashed at the creature from every angle, battering at its form with the power of a tornado. It reeled, shrieking in anger at this sudden intervention, and Malleus raised his head to see what the source of it was.

Samara stood.

One hand clutched the wound in her stomach, but the other was raised, azure force screaming from it as she directed all her biotic power into the creature before her. But it composed itself, surging towards her, the powerful antigravity engines that bore it aloft pushing against the biotic storm, before Samara gestured and Malleus' thunder hammer flew to her hand. She held it only a moment, long enough to thumb that activation rune and to send lightning crackling around the head before she sent it flying forwards with a burst of biotic power.

It slammed into the Assassination Engine with the force of a meteorite, smashing it backwards. It hit the rear wall with the speed of an express train, the weapon's percussive blast field activating with a wave of force that pulverised it yet further. For all the infernal devices that powered it, there was no way the Engine could stand up to that kind of punishment and it was torn asunder, smashed to pieces by a single blow.

With that, she collapsed.

His head span, his body was burning with pain, and seemingly the foe had been vanquished, but somehow Malleus managed to gather together the willpower to force himself to his feet.

Calmly, ignoring the agony that coursed throughout his system, he picked up his hammer and blade and mag clamped them to his waist. Then, he walked to Samara and gently, he picked her up. It hurt to move, it hurt to carry her, but he did so all the same. He would not leave her behind.

He flicked the vox bead in his ear on through a mental impulse through his black carapace and said; "Kullas, we have wounded. We need to leave now. Abandon this operation."

"Brother Captain, Williams and I are doing well," Kullas said. "We may be able to-"

"Forge Priest, did you not hear me?" Malleus asked, his voice ragged with pain. He began to walk, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as he talked. "I said I have wounded. We must leave and seek medical assistance."

"Is the Justicar injured?" Kullas asked.

"Not just her, my friend," Malleus replied. "Make your way to the hangar bay. I will meet you there, and then we need to evacuate to a medical facility as soon as possible. Malleus out."

"Omnissah watch over you, Malleus," came the Forge Priest's reply.

He headed down the corridors at the closest he could come to a run in his state, ignoring the protests of his ruptured heart and pierced lungs. There was a red mist at the edge of his vision, but he pushed it out of his mind, focussing in keeping Samara's unconscious form secure in his arms, a bridal lift where her head lolled uselessly backwards. He let it stay that way, knowing it would keep her airways more open, and instead focussed on putting one step in front of another. For some reason, it reminded him of those first gruelling endurance runs he had done as a Neophyte in the tunnels of Polyphemus, simply thinking of the miles ahead and pushing the exhaustion to one side, the cramp in his muscles and the burning fatigue becoming irrelevant in the face of the task at hand.

"I am the lightning of His wrath," he murmured in hoarse Gothic. "I am the thunder of His hate. I am the lightning of His wrath. I am the thunder of His hate."

Over and over the warcry went, a gasped litany that focussed his mind against the hammering ache that coursed through his ravaged form, stepping ahead. Somehow, he recalled the route they took, and the door to the shuttle bay opened before him. He went up the open ramp, moving at a near shuffle, still repeating the chant, before carefully he placed Samara into one of the seats, gently placing the harness over it. She was safe, thank the Emperor; all was not lost.

He chuckled darkly as he remembered the last time he had made that statement.

The door opened a few moment later as Malleus was preparing to move into the harness, bracing himself for the pain that would come with the movement, and Kullas and Ashley hurried in.

"God," Ashley murmured as she saw the state he was in. She hurried up to him, helping him into the harness. "Kullas, get the engines running and get us out of here."

"I am already doing so," Kullas said from the cockpit, mentally interfacing with the controls of the vessel. "I shall beseech the machine spirit for as much speed as it can muster."

"Good," Ashley said as she looked up at Malleus' helm. Underneath that, his expression was unreadable, the grille over his mouth fixed in that permanent scowl of wrath. "Come on you two, stick with us."

The last thing Malleus heard before his sus-an membrane forced him into unconsciousness was Ashley Williams praying for them.


	45. Chapter 44

Chapter 44-Awakening

"He's coming round!"

An unfamiliar voice, surprise on its tone.

"Already? Damn, he's only been out, what, twelve hours?"

Another stranger, equally confused.

"I did tell you that he was a remarkably hardy individual," came a third voice. This one he recognised, well bred and highly intelligent. "They all are."

Malleus Scandarum's eyes gently flickered open to look at a white painted ceiling. The light in the room should have been dazzling, but his pupils snapped to a correct dilation in milliseconds and he shifted his head gently.

"Good afternoon, Captain," Doctor Chakwas said.

Malleus raised his head, grimacing in pain as the wound in his neck flared, before he let it drop again.

"Good afternoon, Doctor," Malleus replied, staring up at the ceiling instead. "I am very glad to see you right now."

"Believe me, I'm just as glad that you're awake," Chakwas said. "You had me worried when Kullas carried you aboard."

"Aboard?" Malleus asked. "Where am I?"

"The medical bay of the Normandy," Chakwas said. "We're docked in the Presidium Ring, and Kullas thought that we would have the best facilities to treat you."

"Doctor Chakwas, is there anything we can do?" one of the young men in the room said, wearing slightly bloodstained medical fatigues.

"No, I'm sure I'll be able to manage on my own," Chakwas replied. "Go and make yourselves useful elsewhere; God only knows, they'll need more hands over by the triage station. And be sure to take that medigel and the other supplies by the airlock with you."

"Alright," one of them said. "Call us if you need us."

Malleus nodded weakly, before hauling himself into a sitting position with a grunt. His stomach flared with pain at the sudden movement, as did his armpit, and he panted slightly weakly as he sat up. It was only then that he realised he was without any clothing whatsoever.

"Where is my armour?" he asked.

"Kullas took it off, and he's repairing it now," Chakwas said.

"Good," Malleus said, before something occurred to him. "What of Samara, is she alright?"

"She was up about an hour ago," Chakwas answered. "Luckily that thing didn't hit any vital organs, and while she did lose a lot of blood I managed to clone replacement cells, though she needed a great deal of stitches and medigel. She's certainly not in a state to fight Reapers just yet, but she should be fine."

"Thank the Emperor for that," Malleus murmured. Absent-mindedly, he traced the scar on his neck, off-white tissue already webbing over it, medigel working in combination with the scientific miracle that was his physiology to form a thick, hard scab.

"Should I let the others know?" Chakwas asked. "Or do you still need to rest?"

"I will be fine," Malleus said. He slid his legs off the bed, and the Normandy's doctor stopped him with a raised hand.

"Not yet, Malleus," she said. "Doctor's orders; you're staying in bed until I approve you fit for discharge."

"I am the ship's captain," Malleus replied with a gentle smile.

"And I'm the ship's doctor," Chakwas said. "Now stay put. I'll let Kullas know you're awake."

She left, Malleus sitting alone in the medical bay's bed. Only a moment later, Kullas entered.

"Brother-Captain!" the usual grate of his voice raised in the closest approximation he could have for mirth. "You are awake!"

Malleus nodded.

"That I am, brother," he replied. "Thanks to your efforts."

"It was nothing," Kullas said, bowing his head. "It is Samara you owe your thanks to, according to her account."

Malleus nodded.

"Aye," he said. "If it weren't for her, then…"

He trailed off. The prospect of what she had just done for him was humbling.

The door slid open, and Samara and Ashley smiled at him from the doorway. Samara was out of her usual attire of her Justicar armour, instead dressed in simple fatigues, and there a bandage wrapped about her midriff, while Ashley was still in her body armour. Samara was walking with the aid of the Spectre, but she stepped forwards without her help and wrapped her arms around Malleus' shoulders in an embrace, kissing him on each cheek. Malleus placed a hand slightly awkwardly around her back, taken aback by this sudden display of affection.

"Thank the Goddess you're alright," she said, relief evident on her voice.

She stepped back, smiling, before she realised that the only thing that protected the Brother-Captain's decency was a thin white sheet and she blushed, cheeks turning a light purple in embarrassment.

"Thanks to your efforts," Malleus replied. "I owe you my life, Samara. Thank you."

"You were quick enough to repay the favour," she replied. Fluttering in and out of unconsciousness, she could only remember bits of their desperate return journey through the Leviathan's bowels. A murmured prayer or mantra in Malleus' guttural tongue, no doubt beseeching the Emperor for aid, resting against scratched ceramite. The feeling of safety, that despite her wounds she could trust Malleus to see them out of there alive. If it weren't for the fact that the two of them were gravely injured and Malleus seemed on the brink of dying, it would have almost been romantic. "I was in good hands."

"The best," Ashley said. "I knew you would pull through; you were sent here for a reason and it'll take more than some Reapers to stop you."

"Indeed," Malleus said. "The Emperor still has plans for me in this galaxy, it seems."

"Emperor? I meant, y'know, God," Ashley replied

She got a slightly confused look from Malleus, and he asked; "Which one?"

"You know, God. _The_ God," Ashley said. There was the slightly uncomfortable silence of two people not understanding each other, before she said; "Anyway, it's good to have you back, Captain."

Malleus nodded, and smiled.

"It's good to be back," he replied. "Though being back a little more intact would be quite nice."

He smiled slightly at this, and shrugged.

"I suppose I should just be thankful I am alive," he said. "Kullas, I have been meaning to ask; how fares my armour?" 

"That abomination only went for the joints of your armour," Kullas replied. "Most likely it feared it would be unable to cut its way past the ceramite.".

"Whatever the reasons, it probably saved me," Malleus replied, "I will have to give my thanks to the Omnissah and the Emperor in gratitude for the skill of His artisans."

The Brother Captain smiled slightly.

"Well," he said. "I'll be back after a few more hours. Then I suppose I shall have to get down to the business of saving the galaxy once more."

#

As Tali awoke, the first thing she noticed was that her head hurt, her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth and her sinuses felt like they were going to explode. The second thing she noticed was that she wasn't wearing her environment suit.

She pulled herself off the command throne in panic, swaying slightly as stars exploded behind her eyes before she coughed, viciously hacking up a gobbet of…something.

"Oh keelah," she muttered, stumbling towards the synth-skin of her suit. She grabbed it clumsily, desperately attempting to ignore the pounding at the back of her skull and trying not to throw up. "Keelah, keelah, keelah."

She pulled the hood of her suit up over the back of her head, the rubbery material clinging tight, before she walked unsteadily over to where her mask was lying and fixed it on with a hiss of compressing air. Immediately, she ordered a dose of antibiotics and antivirals from her suit, groaning slightly. It felt hot and cramped in her suit, and her skin prickled, feeling sweaty and grimy, and it didn't help that there was an ache between her thighs.

Slowly, memories of the previous night began to filter back; the bottle of fifteen hundred year old Askriit wine, the invitation up to the cockpit.

She slid down the side of one of Yamzarat Machtoro's consoles, groaning and cradling her face in her hands, before she coughed viciously once more. The hacking fit subsided, and she cursed quietly. This could not be happening.

"Oh Christ, my head," someone groaned from behind her. "Why am I…where are my clothes?"

There was the silence of awful realisation, and then Andrew mumbled; "Oh, shit."

"I know," Tali said over from the other side bridge.

"Christ, my _head_," Andrew moaned again.

"How do you think I'm feeling right now?" Tali asked. She sneezed.

"You're in your suit, though," Andrew said. "So you can't have…"

"I woke up naked," Tali said flatly.

Andrew's own recall of the night before began to come through, and he leant forward to massage his temples.

"God dammit, that was stupid of us," he said. "Christ, are you alright?"

"I don't think so," Tali replied. "There's something in my throat, my stomach hurts, my head aches and sinuses are…something's happening to them. And I think I'm coming down with a fever."

Andrew put his head in his hands.

"Jesus," he muttered. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"I'm still alive," Tali said bitterly.

"God," Andrew said. "I am so, _so_ sorry."

He trailed off into a few muttered curses, and Tali shook her head. This was not what she had expected, not at all. She liked Andrew, but not like that. If it hadn't been for that damn bottle of wine…

The container was lying only a few feet away from her on its side, a tiny pool of crimson-purple liquid lying at the bottom, and she shot it a vicious glare.

"Good morning, Little Quarian and Andrew," Yamzarat Machtoro's voice rumbled cheerfully onto the bridge.

"It is not good," Andrew growled, getting up to grab his clothes. "Tali's sick, she's probably gonna die and it's your damn fault for that wine!"

He sopped there; shouting hurt his head.

Yamzarat Machtoro made a rumbling noise, possibly his equivalent of a confused grunt.

"It is traditional," he said. "That the Lady and Lord Machtoro and Mechanist are married."

"What? We're not going to do anything like that," Tali said. "I like Andrew, but not in that way."

"You both seemed to like each other," Yamzarat Machtoro said, slight bafflement on his voice. "I thought that you would be compatible."

"You were…you were matchmaking us?" Andrew exclaimed. "You're a two hundred foot tall death machine and you were _matchmaking us_?"

"Keelah se'lai, you _stupid machine_!" Tali snapped. "You know about the suit, you know how dangerous it is and yet you got me drunk and…urgh, I'm so angry I could scream!"

She broke off in a fit of coughing, ending in a vicious hacking noise.

"Wait a minute," Andy said, with a look of horrified enlightenment on his face. "You've got feeds of the bridge, haven't you? You spent the entire time watching us…"

"I am not squeamish," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "Besides, you aren't the first Lord and Lady to make love in my command throne."

Both Tali and Andrew stared at it in horror.

"Some preferred to utilise the zero gravity," the God Machine added, before Andrew interrupted with; "Stop talking. Please, please, stop talking. You've already made things weird and now you're making them weirder. I'm hungover and Tali's probably going to die and I do not need you making things worse by saying creepy stuff!"

He shook his head.

"Jesus, what are we going to do?"

"I'll get dosed up," Tali said, her voice slightly hoarse. "I've already done it. I'll probably come down with…something or another, but I think I'll be alright."

"We are _never_ going to live this down," Andrew moaned. "Everyone is going to be talking about this."

"Why would they?" Yamzarat Machtoro asked. "Surely it is traditional?"

"It's fraternisation!" Andrew yelled, the noise causing Tali to wince. "Nobody knows about your stupid traditions and everyone is going to talk!"

"Not necessarily," Yamzarat Machtoro said.

"We both went up to the cockpit together, had it locked and didn't come down all night," Andrew said. "What on Earth else are the rest of the crew going to think?"

"You stupid bosh'tet," Tali muttered.

There was a silence, before Yamzarat Machtoro said; "I am sorry, Lady Machtoro."

Tali pulled herself to her feet, the sudden movement leaving her light headed. She sighed.

"At least tell me you heard something from Kullas," she said.

"Yes," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. Tali got the feeling that, if were currently able to do so without demolishing the hangar, he would be shuffling his feet. "He sent a schematic for you."

Tali looked over the blueprint before her, and despite herself, she smiled quietly. She had expected something good, but this? She knew it would be good, but from the title alone she realised it would be absolutely perfect. For at the top of the text, the text immediately gave her an idea of what it might just be, and how dangerous the weapon they had been given was.

_Lokarim-Zorah Pattern Lance Cannon._


	46. Chapter 45

**Author's note**: After doing a little bit of thinking, I'm beginning to worry.

Having thought over Malleus' character lately, I'm becoming increasingly concerned that he may be becoming a Mary Sue (well, Gary Stu, but the point still stands). There is no doubt in my mind that having a Mary Sue as the main character is quite definitely a bad thing, and having received the rather alarming score of 47 on a Mary Sue litmus test I'm beginning to think that I might be doing something wrong. I'm somewhat unsure on how to proceed at this moment in time, but seeing as you folks are a wise bunch I seek your advice; really, truly, honestly, am I alright or am I doing something wrong, because if I am I'd like to know, however harsh it may sound from you.

Alright, don't insult me or my mother or anything, but you get the idea. Thank you, all. (Though I won't be able to reply for a couple of days as I'll be away and will probably be without internet access. On the other hand, I'm in the place where Hammerhand well and truly got off the ground; revisiting the muse! Huzzah!)

Chapter 45-Inward Push

"So, Cyralius, exactly what happened to you back there?" Titus asked as he stepped off the Thunderhawk's assault ramp and onto the massive airstrip of the Espace Portuaire de Calais.

"I'm not entirely sure," the Epistolary replied as they headed along the wide strip of concrete. "Unless I'm very mistaken, what I'm manifesting right now are biotics of some kind."

Overhead, more Alliance planes were touching down as they walked, from the sorties and raids that had run all night. Cyralius saw one of the Alliance's UAV aircraft touching down, idly reading off the serial number stencilled on its side, and he recognised it as one of the ones Miranda had controlled. Right now, he suspected, she had probably handed the controls over to a subordinate and gone to the Alliance surgery to get her eye replaced; she had had to pull a few strings to get the operation delayed as it was.

Titus shook his head.

"Biotics," he said. "That's probably the last thing I expected to hear."

"As far as I can tell, that's what they are," Cyralius replied.

"Well then, how did you get them?" Titus asked.

"I'm not entirely certain," the Epistolary replied. "But unless I'm very much mistaken I believe it was on Ilium, when Malleus and I were recruiting Samara. I swallowed a canister filled with a biotic enhancement drug designed for humans, and seeing as I'm not quite human the effects that it manifested were, quite clearly, rather more dramatic than mere enhancement."

"I suppose they never had a psyker to test it on," Titus remarked. "Though they took a long time to appear; that kind of power could have been useful on the Collector base."

Cyralius shrugged.

"What can I say?" he replied. "The Warp is a mystery even to me."

Titus nodded.

"Suvat said to me that he was calling a briefing in a few hours, before we left," Titus said. "He's planning a large scale push on the inland towns and he wants our help to plan it."

"Oh yes, he hopes to capture Paris, does he not?" Cyralius said, to which Titus nodded.

"That's what he's working towards, aye," he replied. "With the Geth's successes in Beijing, I think he's hoping to draw their forces to us and try and spread them out."

Cyralius nodded, the unspoken dissatisfaction at what was happening at the moment hanging silent in the air. If Malleus had been here, he would not have been so passive as the Turian general; he would have most likely taken the fight to the foe, hoping to crush them between the hammer of the Council forces and the anvil of the Geth and Yamzarat Machtoro. The casualties would be far greater than in Suvat's plan, but overall their victory would be achieved all the swifter for it.

But now Titus was beginning to doubt the effectiveness of victory on the ground. Before, he knew the purpose was to equip their fleet with Reaper weaponry and then to achieve victory with an overwhelming number of combatants who were on an equal force-multiplication level as the Reapers. Now, however, the fleet was shattered and thrown into disarray by the enemy's sleeper agents, and there seemed no hope of victory. The only reason Titus fought now was because to not fight was unimaginable.

"I see," Cyralius said. "I will need to meditate a while, carry out some maintenance on my armour and weapons, but I will be there."

Titus nodded.

"Very well then, brother," he said. "I'll need to do much the same. I'll see you there."

#

The bionic felt strange, and Miranda was having a hard time trying not to touch it. The artificial eye didn't seem to sit right, sutured in place by a seam of flesh and a metal plate bolted to her skull. Part of her head had been shaved, and her long dark hair only fell over one side of her head, the other side taken up by shining steel and scar tissue. The artificial eye's blue lenses glared out at the world, adding an azure tint to one half of her vision, and it was beginning to give her a headache. She was still trying to work out how to control it with the neural interface unit that was built into it, and whenever she wasn't paying attention a heads-up display flicked into existence over her sight.

As the Mako she was riding in jolted along, the Lady Castellan and commander of the Kasrkin reflected on the fact that she was once again going into combat after only a few days since having her eye ripped from its socket. Part of her could not help but feel that it was an extremely foolish thing to do, but at the same time Malleus had given her a duty and she felt that it was only right that she repaid him after all he had done for her. Beside, the medical abilities of the Alliance were more than up to the task of seeing her fixed; especially now with the augmetics that were in common supply thanks to the designs given by Kullas. She had to hand it to him; the Forge Priest was eccentric, but between those and the lasrifles that were now in production he had proved his worth many times over.

The Kasrkin were part of the armoured spearhead that were forming the vanguard of nearly three hundred Sommes that were pushing towards Lille. The great wave of steel and ordnance had nearly every remaining tank in the Alliance committed, supported by their elite special forces as well as a group of Asari Commandoes and Salarian Special Task Group operatives under the command of a Captain Kirrahe. The Salarians and Asari had slipped ahead of the Alliance advance, preparing demolitions, and now, as they rumbled across the French countryside, Miranda knew she had no choice but to put her faith in their skills.

"This is Armour Group Ursus. We have eyes on enemy, coordinates four three one two two three," a message from one of the Sommes came across the Alliance comm. network. "Entrenched in a village of some kind. Engaging."

The command HUD indicated that the northern line of their advance had become snarled up by a small settlement, and Miranda knew that if the assault stalled there then they would lose a serious advantage.

"This is Lady Castellan Lawson to Kasrkin drivers for units Alpha through to Delta," she said. "Get us to grid ref four three one two two three, asap. Frank, I want Atlases Three and Four with us to provide fire support."

"Understood, Lady Castellan," the commander of the Kasrkin's Atlas division replied. "Moving to your coordinates."

"Understood," Miranda said as the Mako she was in jolted as it turned. She gripped her Avenger tight, her other hand holding onto the crossbar above her head as the vehicle rolled over a ditch.

There was a crack from above them as the Mako's cannon fired, the hyper-accelerated three millimetre shell sent screaming through the weapon's at eighty percent of the speed of light to hit with the force of more than seven thousand Newtons. She switched one half of her helmet's display to show the view from the vehicle's onboard cameras in time to see the side of a house explode as it accelerated forwards, flanked by its fellow IFVs.

Explosions rocked the other flank of the village as the Sommes fired, utterly annihilating building with the force of the shells they fired, before the Atlases arrived and opened fire with a salvo of rockets and machine gun fire. Enemy infantry in the open were cut down as the Makos added their own support weapons to those of the massive walkers, mass-driver rounds raking across enemy ranks.

Miranda climbed into the cupola of the vehicle carrying her and her squad, racking back slide of the grenade launcher mounted there and glancing around the battlefield.

"Delta Mako, adjust your bearing, thirty degrees north," Miranda said as she squeezed the trigger and sent death sailing through the air towards their target. "You're too easy a target there."

"Yes ma'am," the driver replied, adjusting the vehicle's angle accordingly as it thundered towards the small village.

The Makos reached the outskirts of the village, fire still raging from their cannons and machine guns, the grenade launcher in Miranda's hands sending a string of lightning orbs lacing their way across the side of a house, dancing across its metal siding. The shock grenades the launcher was loaded with, designed usually to take out shields and synthetics, had proven themselves remarkably effective against their robotic components in the last few days, and Miranda wasn't one to turn down a disadvantage like that.

"Kasrkin, disembark and proceed on foot," she ordered, rifle unfolding into her hand as she slid from the cupola. "Armour Group Ursus, this is Lady Castellan Lawson. We have the Kasrkin in village limits and will hit enemy in the rear. Watch your fire."

"Understood, Lady Castellan," the commander of Armour Group Ursus replied. "Appreciate the assist."

"Not a problem," Miranda replied. "Lady Castellan Lawson out."

Fire zipped towards her, and she ducked behind a ruined wall, rifle held against her before she leant out to fire and froze.

Hesitation and doubt gripped her in icy fingers as she was halfway to firing. She seized up as her mind suddenly played out the events of the last time she had done so with horrifying clarity; the fireburst of raw pain, the ringing in her ear that had had its drum ruptured by the impact, the inability to more her head or feel any part of her body, the alerts beeping in the damaged helmet. Bright, burning agony lacing through her skull, spikes of flame tearing into her mind, the desperate fight to stay conscious despite the hot, sticky blood leaking from her ruined cranium. She risked that again by leaning out, that same welter of unimaginable pain and paralysing helplessness, but this time she might not be so lucky, this time she might…

Beneath her helmet, she growled quietly, screwing up her eyes to try and regain some focus. Mentally, she chastised herself for that line of thought, taking a deep breath. She was Miranda Lawson; the Illusive Man's most trusted agent, given responsibility as Lady Castellan, commander of some of the most elite warriors humanity had by none other than Malleus himself.

She took a breath, then another one, steeled herself, and leant out to open fire.

#

"Reaper machine gun nest ahead!" a soldier called out. "Got us pinned down."

The bank of rapid firing weapons laid down a fearsome hail of rounds as the Reaper soldiers manning them squeezed the triggers, shots chewing up the walls of the buildings that Alpha Platoon was sheltering in. One of them punched through the metal side, slamming into the barriers of one of the Alliance troopers taking cover and the young man gave a yell of alarm as the round punched him from his feet.

Michael Hunter cursed as he ducked down next to him, grabbing his shoulder.

"You alright?" he called down over the din of combat.

"I'm fine," the trooper replied as they got to cover. He flicked his omni-tool on. "Took out my shields, that's all. Recharging them now."

Michael nodded before flicking on his radio.

"This is Commissar Michael Hunter to command," he spoke into it. "Command, do you copy?"

"This is command, we copy," came the reply. "What do you need?"

"I need immediate support on a machine gun nest that has our platoon pinned down," Michael replied over the roar of weapons firing. There was a crackling noise as a shock grenade detonated in midair, picked out mid-throw by an uncannily accurate round and detonating in a ball of lightning. "Send whatever you have nearest."

"Understood, Commissar Hunter, help is on its way," came the reply. "Command out."

"Commissar Hunter out," Michael replied, before he looked up eye to eye with a giant.

The platoon froze, fire slacking off as awed soldiers looked at the blue-armoured goliath that had simply appeared in their midst, before Cyralius Lockheim said; "I heard you needed some help."

Michael nodded mutely, before he managed to say; "That enemy machine gun nest over there, sir."

"I see it," Cyralius said. "I'll deal with it shortly."

He stepped forward into midair and vanished. For a moment, Michael could smell brimstone and there was the sound of quiet cackling just on the edge of hearing.

Cyralius appeared in the midst of the enemy emplacement a moment later, before a wave of crackling lightning rippled around him, searing through the enemy soldiers. One of them managed to duck behind cover, hefting an anti-tank beam launcher into its shoulder before Cyralius plucked it into the air and swept it away with a blast of biotic force.

"Commissar," he called. "We're pushing forward. I'll need the aid of you and your men."

And so Michael followed in the footsteps of a god.

Cyralius was an unstoppable force, a whirlwind of psychobiotic power that was awe inspiring to behold. Electricity arced from his finger tips, balls of flame were summoned into being by the sheer force of his will to crash down upon the foe. Hungry singularities ripped open in the air to swallow enemy soldiers and crush them entirely before they exploded in waves of jagged psy-frost, flechettes of Warp-impelled ice whickering through the air to slice through shields and armour alike.

He stormed through enemy emplacements under the covering fire of Michael's platoon, while more soldiers formed up behind them to push forward with the psychiobiotic hurricane at their fore. A brigade of Sommes joined the advance, their cannons and machine guns adding a fearsome array of firepower to Cyralius' own might, and their advance seemed unstoppable. More enemy forces were diverted to their position only to be cut down by Cyralius' psychic might, and it seemed that soon enough the Alliance would cut through Lille and take it for their own. So caught up in the thrilling promise of an easy victory, nobody noticed the Epistolary quietly grimacing in pain whenever he used his powers.

Above them, the sky began to darken. Crimson lightning began to crackle across the clouds, thunder rumbling, and soldiers began to stall in their advance as they looked upwards. Cyralius hesitated for a moment, frowning as he watched the skies, staff held ready, and it did not take the intuition of a psyker to tell him that whatever this new devilry was, it was not good.

And from the clouds, fingers broke, massive onyx things followed by the hulls of the Reapers themselves. One, two, five, a dozen, a small fleet of the vessels hovering in the sky.

"Emperor preserve us," Cyralius murmured, before they pointed upon the Alliance forces like gods casting judgement.

Red fire lanced from them, and people began to die.


	47. Chapter 46

**Note d'author**: Well, having consulted several wise people of the internet, it appears that my concerns were unfounded. Never have I been happier to be proven wrong. Except for that time when I thought my brother was going to be eaten by a television, but I was six at the time so I was going on some fairly unreliable intel there…

chapter 46-The Weapon

Malleus' first few steps were tentative ones, but he found his strength had been restored eventually after his battle with that creature the Reapers had tried to kill him with. His armour was still being repaired by Kullas, and he instead wore the usual fatigues that he dressed in when going about the Normandy without his aegis.

He stepped free of the airlock onto the Citadel's only Council-controlled docking bay, pausing for a moment as he looked out over the arms of the station. Fires blazed across one of them unchecked, and the skyscrapers that lined the edges of the others were battered and ruined by their treatment at the hands of the Reapers and their auxiliaries. It was going to take a long time to rebuild all of those.

Down he went into the elevator, entering the spacious atrium of the C-Sec academy, the room lined with crates of supplies and accommodating more than a few civilians huddled together.

"It's him!" someone called, and people began to surge around Malleus as he raised a hand in greeting. Despite the fact that it hurt to do so, he stood tall as he was crowded around. Many extended hands to shake, and he took them carefully, not wanting to crush them with the grip of his bionic.

"Where is Acting Executor Bailey?" Malleus asked, stepping through the small group of people that parted before him.

"Citadel Stragetic Command Centre," one of the C-Sec troopers said, pointing to one of the doorways. "Not far from here, sir."

Malleus nodded.

"Understood," he said. "My thanks."

He made his way through the corridors of the Academy, stride firm and confident despite the pain in his arm, chest and neck; he needed to look strong, however he felt. Soon enough, he reached the more heavily fortified area of the Citadel, guards allowing him entry without a moment's hesitation and even giving him a salute. He headed through the corridors, more people murmuring and pointing at him as he passed. It was a strange sensation; in the Imperium, Astartes caused a stir, but people had been fed propaganda on them all their lives. Malleus and his brothers had been here a matter of months, and it seemed that he was already making as much of an impact without the aid of posters or vids.

"Hey, you're up and about," a voice said from behind him, and Malleus glanced around to see Ashley approaching.

"Williams," he said, nodding a greeting to her. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Well, Bailey needs every piece of help he can get," she replied. "Anyway, I didn't really get a chance to talk to you earlier. I just wanted to let you know that I knew you'd pull through from the start."

"Your faith in me is reassuring," Malleus said.

"I thought you were a tough one," Ashley said. "And I was praying for you too. I've always believed that everyone has a guardian angel looking out for them, and clearly yours had his eye on the ball."

"Seeing as that guardian angel would be me, I'm not surprised," Malleus said. "I always, as you say, 'have my eye on the ball.'"

Ashley looked at him in confusion, and Malleus explained; "In the Imperium, the Astartes are called the Angels of Death; we were made by the Emperor as the ultimate guardians of humanity."

"Oh, right," Ashley said. "I was thinking of a slightly different kind."

Malleus nodded in recollection, before he said; "Yes, you mentioned you had some god of some sort."

He glanced down at the woman for a moment moment, noticing the small crucifix pendant that hung on a gold chain around her neck.

"You're a Cruxian, then?" he asked.

"A what?" Ashley asked.

"I believe that was the name I heard," Malleus said. "I may have misremembered, though; you worship crosses, practice human sacrifice upon them, yes?"

Ashley's eyes widened, before she asked; "What the hell gave you that idea?"

"Your sacred symbols often have a figure hung upon them," Malleus said. "A young man, usually in his physical prime, crucified. I suppose that would be a sacrifice worthy of most gods."

The Spectre frowned for a moment, before she laughed.

"No, it's not a sacrifice," she said. "Though I guess I can kind of see where you're coming from. That's supposed to be Jesus."

"Who?" Malleus asked.

"The Son of God," Ashley explained. "You don't know any of this?"

"I've been in this galaxy only a few months," Malleus said. "Most of which I've spent fighting the Reapers or their servants. I haven't really had a chance to learn about the galaxy's religions. So who is this Jesus, then?"

"As I said, the Son of God," Ashley replied. "And God himself, at the same time; it's kind of complicated. But basically, he died on the cross two thousand years ago to save people from sin."

"And what are your beliefs?" Malleus asked.

"He teaches that we should love our neighbours and forgive those who sin," Ashley said. "And that there's nothing more important than being good to those around us. Well, it's one way of interpreting what he said, but it's what _I_ think."

She paused, before she said; "Hey, didn't you mention you had a god? An Emperor, or something?"

Malleus nodded.

"Indeed, the God Emperor of the Imperium of Man," he said. "Master of a million worlds, resplendent upon His Golden Throne, neither alive nor dead and sustaining the Imperium and humanity through his suffering and sacrifice."

"Suffering and sacrifice?" Ashley asked.

"He was betrayed by his most favoured son, Horus, ten millennia ago and fatally wounded," Malleus replied. "The Golden Throne sustains him to this day, holding the Imperium together through the sustaining of the Astronomican beacon that allows us to travel safely between the stars."

"So, he's dying to save mankind," Ashley said.

"Yes, he is," Malleus replied.

"Like Jesus!" Ashley said. "Of course, that makes so much sense."

Malleus frowned in confusion, before he asked; "It does?"

"Well yeah, if you think about it," Ashley said. "In this galaxy, Jesus died to save us; in yours he's always dying to save mankind. They were both betrayed as well, so it's obvious what happened; God sent Jesus to our galaxy, and then did the same thing in yours but was called the Emperor instead."

Malleus was silent for a moment, before he said; "I do not believe that is the case."

"Why not?" Ashley asked.

"Only the weak forgive," Malleus said in reply, recalling the words. "The strong destroy all who offend them and leave none spared except for the faithful. The only way to absolve the sinful is in the holy fires of the God Emperor's righteous fury."

He caught the look Ashley was giving him and said in explanation; "From the writings of Saint Emmanuel Clayasus."

"He sounds kind of…crazy," Ashley said eventually.

"Actually, in the Imperium he was regarded as a moderate figure," Malleus said. "But we aren't inclined to forgive. Frankly the teachings of this Jesus of yours sound like the most preposterous doctrine to found a religion on."

"What?" Ashley asked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Forgiveness," Malleus said. "To forgive is weak; you need to crush those who threaten you, or else you won't survive."

"What kind of psychopathic belief is that?" Ashley asked. "That's horrible!"

"It's seen humanity through ten thousand years of warfare against countless horrors that you cannot even begin to imagine," Malleus said. "There are things out there that are far more frightening than Reapers and your doctrine of love and forgiveness would see humanity extinct in a matter of weeks."

"That's ridiculous," Ashley said, an angry set to her stance. "Come on, give me one thing in your galaxy that can be that terrifying."

"One thing?" Malleus replied. "That's easy."

He leaned in close to the Spectre, and said; "Me."

#

"You didn't stay out for long, I see," Bailey said as Malleus entered the main control room. Kullas was also present, and a hologram of the Citadel was floating in the central console. "Tough one, aren't you?"

"So I've been told," Malleus replied. "What developments have there been since I was unconscious?"

"No major ones so far," Bailey said. "Morale took a hit after the news got around, but the enemy seem to pushed some of their forces back to guard their home turf; they were worried about people getting through the ducts. Though I took a leaf out of your book, and I've had a couple of raids launched out of them, guided by some Duct Rats. So far, it's not done anything major, but if it makes our lives a bit easier then I'm not complaining."

"A good plan," Malleus said. "Though ultimately we need to deal with the enemy fleet if we are to win the day."

Bailey nodded.

"All we have is the Normandy, though," he said. "And they'll have got wise to any attempts to board or take over the Leviathan or one of the Reapers; no way we can try that again."

The acting Executor sighed, before he said; "I've gotta say, Malleus, you really dropped the ball on that one; it was a damn risky thing to do in the first place, storm a ship with just four people, even if two of you were Astartes, and you nearly getting yourself killed didn't help."

"Indeed," Kullas admonished. "The serious, potentially fatal loss of two team members constitutes an unmitigated failure, without a doubt."

"It was poor luck," Malleus said. "Though perhaps I had overestimated the forces at my disposal; I'm unused to not commanding my brothers."

"You were never in charge of mere mortals back home?" Bailey asked slightly incredulously.

"No; it stops an Astartes commander becoming too powerful," Malleus replied. "The consequences of when we once did that were…unfortunate."

Bailey shrugged.

"Alright," he said. "But the problem we've got now is that we're back at square one; there's a fleet hanging over us, we're outnumbered and we're only going to be able to hold out for so long."

"It's the fleet that's the problem here," Malleus said. "If we removed the Reapers, the Batarians' nerve will break; they're not natural warriors. The Yahg, I'm not so sure about."

"Of course, it's the enemy fleet that's our problem," Bailey said. "Though Kullas says he has a solution."

Malleus looked over at the Forge Priest.

"And what would that be?" he asked.

"The Citadel," Kullas replied. "I believe that I may well be able to convert it into a mass driver weapon the likes of which has never before been seen."

Malleus was quiet for a moment, before he said; "That strikes me as somewhat of a strong claim to make, brother."

"That's what I said," Bailey replied. "Still, he's got it pretty well thought out."

"Very well then, go on," Malleus said.

"The principle of mass driver based weaponry places only the speed of light as the upper limit on the maximum velocity of a round it fires," Kullas said. "It is possible, I believe, to accelerate a projectile up to ninety nine point nine percent of the speed of light; the only thing that has stopped the Citadel's peoples from doing so is the power requirements, the recoil and the subsequent heat buildup from frictional forces. I do believe, however, that I have found a solution to both of those problems. If we fire a projectile into cold vacuum, and it is fired without a rail of any kind, then two those problems are eliminated."

"What of the power requirements?" Malleus asked. "That would be a major issue."

"That is simple," Kullas said. "The mass effect generators under this station are designed to provide power to millions of citizens and the millions more devices they need to live their lives, the potential power to the motors of the Citadel's arms, life support and countless other functions. There is power there, I calculate, to accelerate an object to roughly ninety five percent of the speed of light. Not a particularly massive object, but at the speed it is travelling at that will not particularly matter."

"How are you going to draw that power?" Bailey asked. "I mean, if I'm completely honest we just siphon it off some central cables that lead to reactors we're never able to find; we can't really control the output, seeing as we can't find a central control panel of any kind."

In reply, Kullas highlighted the five tips of the Citadel's arms as well as the Presidium Tower, where it protruded into the centre of the great station's rings.

"There is one," the Forge Priest replied. "Saren Arterius accessed it during the First Battle of the Citadel."

He frowned for a moment, before he said; "Though suspecting the countless genocides the Reapers have enacted through the use of this station, I suspect that the 'First' title is an inaccurate one, but I digress. My point remains, however, that for those with the right knowledge control over the Citadel's systems is possible, and that the panel resides in the top of the Presidium Tower, in the Council Chambers themselves."

He pointed to the tips of the arms, which he had highlighted red.

"I will adjust the arms to the optimum angle and at the tips of the arms will have Mass Effect generators placed," he continued. "From there, I will use these to fire into the Reaper vessels and to destroy the mainstay of their fleet. A weapon with the power to kill a Reaper in what I suspect will be just one shot will be more than enough to deter the Batarians to attempt anything with the Leviathan."

"What will you firing?" Malleus asked. "Considering the amount of debris currently floating inside the Citadel's arms alone, getting the field generators to fire what we want would be impossible."

"Well, it is a commonly known fact that they can be used to selectively accelerate certain materials and ignore others," Kullas said. He drew his bolter and raised it one handed. "And I suspect that we have the only source of adamantium in the galaxy here."

"It would be difficult as hell to pull off," Bailey said. "But we might just manage it."

Malleus nodded.

"Let's get to work," he said.

**Author's note (again)**: You have no idea how much maths I had to do to make sure that Kullas' Cunning Plan™ would actually work, so 'preciate it, a'ight? And yes, I may have taken some liberties with mass effect field but seeing as Element Zero and the mass effect technology is Applied Phlebotinum at its finest it doesn't strike me as being all that inconceivable.


	48. Chapter 47

Chapter 47-Firepower

"Busy night, huh chief?"

Ancestors, Tali had been dreading this conversation. That feeling hadn't helped in combination with the fact that she felt like she might vomit at any given moment, and she'd felt positively nauseous as she'd stepped out of Yamzarat Machtoro's foot hatch. Part of her really didn't want to speak to Yukio right now, but seeing as she was their resident expert on big guns it was going to have to happen eventually. Even as she'd approached Yukio's corner of the hangar that she had commandeered for her work, walking around the mass of Yamzarat Machtoro's railgun, she had noticed the slightly malicious look on her face and was already regretting doing this, however necessary it was.

"No, Kaede," she said flatly to her God Machine's Loggat Mistress.

"Yeah, sure," Yukio said, a somewhat mischievous smile on her face. "So, y'know, you and Andrew had the cockpit locked and were up there all night and were just working, right?"

"Yes," Tali said. "We were just working."

"Of course, you two were probably working _real_ hard," Yukio said. "Getting right deep down into the works."

"Alright," Tali said quietly.

"Really cleaning those pipes," Yukio continued heedlessly.

"Okay, whatever you say," Tali said, her voice slightly louder and firmer. "Enough, now."

"Doing some really long, hard work on all those delicate systems," the Alliance Engineer said. "Making sure that your checks were nice and deep."

"Enough," Tali growled.

"Getting real-"

"I said that was enough!" Tali suddenly shouted. "My head hurts, my ribs are broken, I've got an irresponsible idiot for a god machine under my command, I'm as sick as a Varren, I've just ruined a relationship with a good friend and the last thing I need is for you to start being a stupid, immature bosh'tet!"

The noise in the hangar dropped for a moment, several other members of the crew turning to stare at her, even as her shouting made Tali cough viciously. Yukio grimaced slightly guiltily.

"Sorry chief," she said.

"No, don't be," Tali said, shaking her head. "It's just not been a good morning. I shouldn't have shouted like that though. I'm sorry."

She sat down on a crate, and sighed before she asked; "Can we just forget about it for a minute, please?"

"Yeah, sure," Yukio said. "Sorry. Again."

"It's fine," Tali said. "Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something." 

"Man troubles?"

"Kaede…"

"Alright, alright," Yukio said. "What was it really?"

"This," Tali said, calling up her omni-tool. "You know I mentioned a replacement for Yamzarat Machtoro's railgun? Kullas sent me one."

"Ooh, lemme see," Yukio said, leaning into the schematic on Tali's omni-tool.

"I'll send it to yours," Tali said. She tapped a few incorporeal buttons on the glowing device, and as Yukio called hers up her eyes widened as she looked over the statistics.

"Look at the power of that thing," she said. "That's…"

She trailed off for a moment, before she murmured; "I think I'm in love."

"Do you think we can build it?" Tali asked. "I looked over the power draws it needs, and they're pretty huge."

"If we diverted power from his locomotion we could manage it," Yukio replied. She tapped a few buttons on her omni-tool. "It's going to need a good eighty percent of that just to fire at full power, so moving and shooting is out of the question, but I reckon if I could work out how to draw it from there it shouldn't be so hard."

"I could do that," Tali said. "It's not so different from starship maintenance."

"Awesome," Yukio said. She returned her gaze to the weapon's blueprint. "But look at the power of that thing! It could go through a full-blown Reaper in one shot; against those titans we'd be untouchable."

She frowned, before she said; "Don't know what a 'Lokarim-Zorah Las Focus' is, though."

"I do, and can work out how to deal with that," Tali said, before she sneezed. "Once my head clears up a bit, anyway."

She crossed her arms and beneath her mask, she pouted slightly. It felt ridiculous, but somehow it made her feel a little better.

"You alright?" Yukio asked.

"It's just…it's just Andrew," Tali said. "I didn't really think that would ever happen. Not with him."

Yukio sat down next to her and stuck a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, I'm pretty sure he liked the idea," she said.

"What?" Tali asked.

"Well duh, it was obvious he fancied you," Yukio said. "Not that I blame him."

"Why would he? He can't even see my face," Tali pointed out.

"Yeah, but you've got a figure most people would kill for," Yukio replied. "And anyway, that mask adds mystique, doesn't it? And if he took it off he must've liked what he saw in any case."

Tali was silent for a moment, before she said; "That's…disconcerting to hear from you."

"Really?" Yukio asked. "It's pretty standard girl talk, isn't it?"

"I've never heard it," Tali replied quietly.

Yukio was silent for a moment, before her face split into a grin.

"First time?" she asked, a slightly wicked edge to her smile.

"Oh keelah," Tali murmured. "Fine, yes, it was. You happy?

"So what was he like?" Yukio asked, a somewhat childish edge to her tone.

"I don't remember," Tali said. "And even if I did I'm not telling you."

"Hey, I thought we were friends," Yukio said.

"We're not going to be if you carry on this way," Tali muttered darkly.

Yukio burst out laughing, before she said; "Fine, fine, I won't ask. But come on, it's not that bad."

"Yes it is!" Tali protested. "Look, it's not like with you humans where you can just do it with whoever you like; if I come out of my suit without being careful I could _die_! I was just lucky Yamzarat Machtoro's cockpit was clean."

"I guess I didn't think of it that way," Yukio said. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Tali said.

"I remember my first time," Yukio said slightly fondly. "Her name was Sarah; we'd both been going out for a while, and then one night we got a bottle of champagne and snuck into a local park. It was dark, the stars were out, and were both a bit drunk. Nice and romantic."

"Sarah?" Tali asked.

"Yeah," Yukio said. "I'm a girl girl. I mean, what can I say? I like titties."

Tali shrugged.

"Oh," she said. "What happened to her?"

"We grew apart," Yukio replied. "She wanted to go and study arts and college, I was more interested in mechanics, then I got into the Alliance Military and we just fell out of touch."

She frowned.

"I hope she's okay," she said after a moment.

Yukio shook her head, before she said; "Anyway, we should probably take a look at getting stuff together for this Lance Cannon."

Tali nodded.

"I was thinking," she said. "That we could make a weapon mount using his old railgun, maybe cannibalise it off that."

"Yeah," Yukio said. "If we put the las generator in where the coils are at the moment, then we can probably use some of the wiring and stuff already in there to help power that focus thing it mentioned in the blueprint."

"I think I can work out how to do that," Tali said. "We can use the railgun prongs as a shell for the barrel, and seeing as we've got the joints all sorted that shouldn't be too hard to make."

She paused as she noticed a Geth running up to them, one of the speaker platforms that had served as translators and spokesmachines for their people.

"Creator Zorah, Loggat-Mistress Yukio," it said. "We have a high priority notice for you."

"What is it?" Tali asked, before coughing.

"We have been alerted of Old Machine dreadnoughts making atmospheric entry," the machine said. "We must warn you that their current trajectory means that they are moving to attack Yamzarat Machtoro."

"Keelah," Tali cursed. "Have you got anywhere we can go? There's no way we can fight them without his railgun."

"We may be able to stall them until some of our ships arrive," the platform said.

"Good," Tali said. "I'm glad we've got his shields and armour back into commission."

She flicked the radio on.

"Attention all of Yamzarat Machtoro's crew," she said. "This is Tali'Zorah. I need you all on board right now; we have incoming Reapers and need to get out of here."

"Almarach Ikmrin?" Yamzarat Machtoro asked, growling. "I will see them vanquished!"

"No," Tali said. "We're getting out of here, that's what we're doing."

She hurried to the access hatch, Yukio in her wake, the engineer stopping only to grab some strange looking, bulky rifled from the top of a crate. Tali pulled herself up the ladder, worry making her heedless of the pinging ache in her chest. She was lifted up by Yamzarat Machtoro's gravity-propulsion, flown up to the cockpit before she was gently placed into the command throne. She swallowed to try and ward off the soreness at the back of her throat, before she said; "Is everyone on board?"

"Aye, Lady Machtoro," Yamzarat Machtoro replied.

"Good," Tali said. "I want us moving further into Geth lines, get some air and anti-orbital support."

"On it," one of the crew replied.

Andrew hovered into the cockpit, dropping down and hurrying to his console by the side of Tali's throne. He gave her a slightly awkward grin as they fired it up. Several of the crew kept glancing at them, and she glowered back at them from under her mask. She did not need this, not now.

The cockpit shuddered as Yamzarat Machtoro stepped free of the hangar, the sudden lurching movement giving her vertigo, and stepped across the spaceport, concrete cracking under each tread. Gunships and aircraft were lifting off from the great stretches of tarmac to deal with the encroaching threat, engines becoming miniature crimson stars in the morning sky.

The vulnerable god machine strode away as more aircraft streaked overhead, preparing to do battle with the approaching foe, and Tali gripped onto her staff of office, taking some reassurance from its presence.

His lurching stride carried them from Beijing's spaceport towards the city limits, where the scorched metropolis would offer them greater shelter from the might of the Reaper forces. Already, Geth comm. chatter indicated that what remained of their fleet was moving to deal with the Reapers while they were at an atmospheric level, where they were forced to lower their shields.

"I've got Reapers sighted on the scanners," Macjec, the monitor for Yamzarat Machtoro's sensors and power readings called. "Twenty clicks and closing."

"They in range?" someone called, before Yukio called back; "Of course they're in range, they're goddamn starship-grade weapons."

She glanced over at Tali and said; "What's the plan, chief?"

Tali thought for a moment, before she said; "Macjec, there's supposed to be an eezo processing plant nearby, isn't there?"

"There is, yes," the crewman replied. "I'll get it up. Here we go; half a click east of here."

"Good," Tali said. "Yamzarat Machtoro, get us in range of the cannon, and then I want you to blow it sky high, understood? There's no way they'll be able to see through that sort of dust cloud."

"I go, Lady Machtoro," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "Had I my railgun right now; the destruction I would inflict upon these craven fiends would make them weep in terror!"

"Hold on, big guy," Yukio replied cheerfully. "We win this and we'll get you a weapon to make them cry like nothing else."

"I look forward to it, Loggat Mistress," Yamzarat Machtoro replied as he strode towards his target, the massive pistons and servos in his legs whining with each movement.

"You're not the only one," Yukio grinned.

He reached the large factory building as the first of the Geth aircraft hit the Reapers, unleashing waves of ordnance upon the foe. Bombs and mass-accelerator made plasma blasted against kinetic barriers, waves of light rippling across the shields, while artillery began to fire, softening them up.

Alerts were sent out to the Geth forces, and then Yamzarat Machtoro loaded high-explosive rounds into his cannon and opened fire. The building he targeted seemed to swell and burst like a blister as fire bloomed from within. The roof was ripped free, and great clouds of powdered Element Zero were sent skywards, scattered by the wind and swiftly forming a blinding fog over the scene of combat.

Overhead, through Yamzarat Machtoro's cameras, Tali saw the first of the Geth ships reach them through the shimmering haze, no doubt making hyper-precise FTL jumps to get from wherever they were sheltering to Earth's orbit to deal with the Reapers. Railguns, loaded with element zero rounds, sliced through shields to clash against their dark armour, and the Reapers began to coast upwards to deal with the new threat.

The ships fled upwards, the massive dreadnought following even as they swatted enemy craft from the skies, chunks of armour beginning to be battered away by precisely aimed shield-breacher rounds. Their prey hidden from view, the Reapers began to disappear, and Tali breathed a sigh of relief as Yamzarat Machtoro stepped free of the dust cloud, getting back into communication with the Geth Neural Network.

"Somebody get me a status report on what's happening," she ordered.

"Council forces were hit by Reapers in orbit a couple of hours ago," came the reply. "Some of them broke off to try and get Yamzarat Machtoro while he was vulnerable."

Tali nodded. With the fleet scattered by the Reapers' sleeper agents and with only the Geth maintaining any semblance of their former numbers, the Reapers had a prime time to strike ground bound forces.

"Are they alright?" she asked, her thoughts suddenly going to Titus and the others down there.

"Not sure; their comms. are pretty choked up, but the Geth ships are moving to try and relieve them."

"Understood," Tali said. "Let's just hope they're not too late."


	49. Chapter 48

**Author's note:** A big, delicious internet cookie to whoever can first spot the cunningly concealed Bioshock reference in this chapter.

Chapter 48-Minds of Gods

Gods descended upon mortals and put them to flight. They were smitten by crimson light, ripped to atoms by a cold, alien wrath, massacred by a might that could be mistaken for the divine. Colossi of shining dark metal hung in the skies above them, tearing great furrows from the living armies that dared to defy them, while fleets of dropships emerged from their hulls, disgorging reinforcements onto the ground. The forces of the Council and their Krogan allies were put to flight in moments.

It would have been pleasant see their retreat was a disciplined, orderly affair, but in the face of such monstrous power that was simply a lie; the armies stumbled around on themselves, beginning to pull back without regard for orders. Some units, held in check by fear of their Commissars, stood their ground, desperately trying to get some semblance of cohesion out of the chaos of battle, but most just ran.

The Kasrkin did no such thing.

They fell back in good order, covering each other with overlapping fire arcs while the rest of them retreated, got to cover and then signalled their comrades to do the same. They fought furious short-range firefights with the Reaper forces that dared accost them, the Atlas mechs providing heavy firepower, machine guns and rockets blasting away at the enemy.

Blinding crimson lanced down only a few blocks away from them, the wave of heat and pressure enough to cause a lull in combat, stumbling warriors on both sides.

Knocked from behind cover, Miranda hastily threw up a biotic barrier as she pulled herself to her feet. She grabbed her rifle from where it lay at her feet, pushing it into her shoulder and opening fire, rounds chattering from her weapon before she ducked back again.

"Frank," she called to the commander of the Atlas mechs across the radio. "Cover us, we're falling back."

"Understood, Lady Castellan," came the Irish-accented reply. "We'll give you covering fire."

"Alpha squad, this is Lady Castellan Lawson," Miranda said into her radio. "We're falling back. Prepare to move; move!"

She dashed from cover, sending a biotic warp at an enemy that emerged from cover, sprinting past a toppled building. She slid to a halt as she enemy shots tear past the armour of one of the Kasrkin, one of _her_ Kasrkin, and scrambled to his position. She grabbed his armoured deadweight and pulled, the servos and synthetic muscles in her own body armour granting her the strength she needed to drag her fallen subordinate to cover, before she flicked on her omnitool and ran a diagnostic on him; a quick scan on the lifesigns indicator showed no heartbeat, no neural activity and no breathing.

She cursed, vaulting over cover as rounds pinged against her shields, ducking down as she hurried to the lines of the soldiers under her command, a series of flattened buildings that fronted on a square. She got down, and barked into the radio; "This is Lady Castellan Lawson; we need evac, and we need it now. We have overwhelming numbers of enemy forces on our position, and we have wounded! I repeat, we have wounded and need to get out of here ASAP!"

Overhead, she saw the white and gold bulk of the Thunderhawk shriek above her towards one of the onyx goliaths, accompanied by a flight of Alliance planes. Raven-like Reaper jets swept to intercept them, the Alliance planes peeling off to engage while Kurias kept his course towards his target.

Miranda didn't have time to follow how that battle went, the radio crackling into life in her ear and say; "This is Hawk Flight; we hear you and are on our way. ETA of thirty seconds."

"Understood," Miranda said. "We'll be waiting."

She yelled orders to Eagle Squad on their furthest flank to fall back and secure the square, before ducking out and opening fire on the approaching foe. A round slammed into the toppled wall she was sheltering behind and she flinched back, throwing up a biotic barrier before she emerged once more. A heavy weapons trooper was hefting its armament in the direction of one the Atlases and she pulled it into the air and opened fire on it along with several other members of the Kasrkin, recognising that the high-priority target was vulnerable.

There was a whining of engines above them as an Alliance gunship pulled overhead, the machine guns strafing over enemy lines while rockets detonated among their ranks. Behind them, a few dropships began to touch down, the weapons on their sides opening up on the encroaching foe, and Miranda barked; "Charlie Squad, get wounded aboard the nearest dropship and then bug out with. Alpha and Bravo, I want you on the one nearest us; Delta and Eagle, furthest away. Frank, cover us and then fall back!"

Affirmatives came back and Miranda nodded, moving with Delta Squad to the VTOL craft while their gunship and mechs covered them. Rounds slammed into their feet around them or knocked off shields, but they were blessedly sporadic, the Reaper forces too occupied by the vehicle support to bother about the infantry.

"This is Charlie Squad, Lady Castellan," her radio crackled. "Wounded are aboard and we're lifting off."

"Understood," Miranda said. "Good work."

The other dropship began to lift off, an alert coming in from Alpha and Bravo, and Miranda pulled herself aboard the last one under the covering fire of its grenade launchers as they lobbed contained lightning into the enemy's position. She pulled another of the Kasrkin aboard, and glanced around the inside of the craft at Delta and Eagle Squad.

"We all in?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am," one of the others replied, and Miranda called to the pilot; "Take us up."

There were thirteen of them, she mused as the craft lifted off. Between two squads, there were only thirteen, both of them had been so heavily mauled by this war. She couldn't help but feel slightly angry with herself for not quite living up to her responsibilities as well as she could have, that she could have coordinated them better or perhaps something else, but soon enough she banished those thoughts. This was war, and as much as she hated seeing it to happen to the people under her responsibility, it was grim inevitability.

The craft lifted up past a fire-gutted building, and Miranda looked over Lille. War had transformed the once pleasant historical city into a hellscape, flames crackling across entire districts while many buildings had been reduced to undulating piles of pulverised rubble. As she watched, one of the Reapers fired its massive weapons, tearing a whole swathe out of the city and leaving blazing devastation in its wake. Miranda flicked through radio channels, but they were an impenetrable mess of distress calls, static and garbled, indecipherable orders; it had been nothing short of a miracle that those dropships had picked them up at all.

"We've got enemy aircraft moving towards us," their pilot warned. "Taking evasive manoeuvres."

The craft lurched as it dropped downwards, narrowly avoiding a beam weapon shot while it turned to give one of the gunners an opportunity to open up. It swayed upwards again as an enemy gunship pulled towards it, the other dropships holding the Kasrkin taking similar evasive maneuvres against the enemy aircraft, and Miranda sent a bolt of warping energy towards, hoping to disrupt its shields.

It fired again, the fingers housing the weapons pointing like a hand casting judgement, and the beam of energy it fired speared through the side of the craft, impaling an engine and burning through the passenger compartment. One of the Kasrkin was hit, the shot tearing past their shields and armour and all but oblitering their chest, and the craft began to tumble as the pilot desperately wrestled with the controls. Miranda grabbed hold of an overhead rail as it span uncontrollably, whirling madly towards the ground as its engines fought to keep it aloft.

The last thing Miranda saw before darkness overtook her was the side of a flame-gutted building rushing up to meet her.

#

Titus' shotgun barked as it sent a fullisade of hyper-accelerate sand particles into the enemy before him, three shots blasting past its shields and armour, stumbling it back and knocking it to the ground.

Behind him, Grunt roared as he sent a Reaper soldier to the ground with a throw, stamping down on its helmeted head. The Krogan barrelled into another enemy, swinging a punch and stumbling his enemy before smashing it down with a blast from his own shotgun.

A thud sounded from behind them as Legion fired its massive Widow rifle, punching a Reaper soldier from its feet, and a second enemy fell as it changed aim. Garrus' own lighter rifle snapped as he fired from ground level, squeezing off a few shots into the head of a footsoldier, and the Turian growled a curse as he was forced to duck behind cover as three enemies turned their weapons upon them.

The team were in a fighting retreat, a small locus of order which disparate Council soldiers had attached themselves to in the swirling melee that was the Reaper counterattack. With comms. shot to hell, most soldiers were desperately trying to fall back and consolidate their position with as much of a semblance of order that they possibly could, but with the enemy pressing against them in greater and greater numbers that was becoming even trickier.

Cyralius barrelled in from a sideroad, seemingly from nowhere, and slammed his staff into an enemy footsoldier, knocking it to the ground before letting balefire lance from his staff and into a cluster of the foe.

"Brother!" Titus called over the din of combat, opening up with his shotgun while the banner he held flapped in the breeze, though by now calling the scorched, bullet-hole pocked weave of adamantium fibres with the sigil of the Sons of Thunder and the golden 'VI' barely visible on it was probably over-generous. "Over here!"

Cyralius sprinted to his position, his submachine gun chattering as he fired towards the enemy, and said; "What's the situation?"

"Not good," Titus said. "We're falling back, trying to do it with as much order as we can."

"Falling back?" Cyralius asked. "How far?"

"Emperor only knows," Titus replied, squeezing off a pair of shots before unclipping the thermal drum of his weapon and slamming a new one home. "Might be the edges of town, might be the countryside, might be all the way back to the coast. But with those things in the sky and more reinforcements coming in every minute, we can't keep the offensive up."

"What about Kurias and the Thunderhawk?" Cyralius asked, sending a bolt of lightning crackling into the enemy.

"Skies are too hot for him to make a safe pass with the turbolaser," Titus replied. "But we need some way of dealing with those things.

Cyralius nodded.

"I might be able to deal with that," he said. "I can teleport aboard; it will be a long distance port, and I'll probably only be able to do it once, but if I can get to its engine core then I can take it out."

"Alright then, brother," Titus said. "That will take some of the pressure off, at least. Lightning of His wrath."

"Thunder of His hate," Cyralius replied.

The Epistolary stepped behind cover, drawing on every last reserve of his power. He recalled the scans the Normandy had made of the dead Reaper upon Mnemosyne, and focussed his mind upon where he knew the core would be. He picked his target, one of the behemoths that hung above them, before he pulled at the skeins of reality with Dark Matter, before he pushed past and into the roiling insanity of the Warp.

He squinted the eyes of the mind, focussing on nothing but his target, blocking out everything else; even in its uncorrupted state, it was still a place that was antithesis to sanity, and he made his way to his target in a timeframe that was both nothing at all and an eternity. And then he ripped into the cool, dark corridors of one of the Reapers.

He fell to a knee, panting in exhaustion, resting the base his staff on the ground for support. He groaned as he pulled himself to his feet, grimacing in pain at the expenditure of effort, and shook his head.

**Your arrival is unexpected, Astartes.**

The voice seemed come from everywhere at once, and Cyralius straightened up before he said; "I presume this is one of the Reapers speaking to me."

**You are correct, Astartes.**

"May I ask your name?" Cyralius asked, striding through the corridor.

There was a long, low rumbling noise, a god chuckling at the impertinence of mortals, before it said; **You may address me as Archon. You are Cyralius Lockheim, of the Adeptus Astartes.**

"Indeed I am," Cyralius replied. "You sound remarkably confident for a being that has an Astartes striding around within their corridors."

**I am assuming you make for my core,** Archon replied. **You will be too late. I have soldiers moving to your position, and my core is five decks above you. You shall never reach it before you are overwhelmed, Astartes.**

There was a blast of displaced air as Cyralius rose through five decks, appearing in the glowing core centre.

"Thank you for those directions," Cyralius said. "They were most helpful."

With a force of will, he pulled together the doors that gave entry and exit from the core's room, soldering the doors together with a licking tongue of superheated flame and destroying the mechanisms that would allow the door to open. Those would take a while to open. He swayed slightly at this, suddenly light headed, and mentally reprimanded himself for such expenditure of power after so long-range a teleport; it seemed that this greater power was a drain on his stamina.

"Now that we have a little privacy, we can talk," the Epistolary said.

**Talk? You wish to converse, insignificant creature?**

"Considering the trouble we have put you through merely for one planet, I cannot help but feel that the insignificant descriptor is somewhat inaccurate," Cyralius said. "But yes, I wish to ask you some questions. I am curious about you Reapers."

**There is nothing to talk of, Astartes. We are eternal, we are unstoppable, and we will last beyond the death of the universe itself. Fear us.**

"I have faced creatures far more frightening than you," Cyralius replied. "Now, I wish to ask you questions. Namely, what is your motive?"

**Our motives are incomprehensible to organic minds,** Archon answered. **You cannot hope to understand them.**

"I have looked upon a realm of pure insanity and bent it to my will," Cyralius replied. "I am quite sure I can understand what motivates you."

**You would be unable** came the answer.

"Very well," Cyralius said. "It is clear you are not feeling cooperative. No matter."

He reached out with his psyche, and touched the mind of the Reaper.

It was not so much a mind as it was, as he looked upon it, a machine spirit, ancient, lingering and malignant. Old machinery, he knew, acquired more of a individualistic machine spirit than that which was newly made, and the Reaper before him was billions of years in age, made all the stronger by the fact that it was an artificial intelligence. In all its many years of existence, it had developed something akin to a mind and a soul, and it was this that Cyralius' mental probe brushed against.

He saw a world that burned and writhed under the harsh glare of a dying star, ravaged by heat and radiation. Cancerous, blighted peoples lived miserable lives so short that they measured time in generations, not years. Desperately, they worked to escape the gaze of their merciless sun, blasting into space only to discover, with bitter realisation, their lives were no longer away from their star.

They found themselves caught up in a war between gods, on one side near-incomprehensible immortals made partly from some impossible substance that seemed to warp reality, and on the other beings of pure energy. As insignificant as gnats to a Thresher Maw, the scurrying creatures from a blasted world were utterly ignored by the deities that made war upon one another. They watched from the shadows of the infant galaxy, colonising worlds where it was safe from the apocalyptic battles that raged across the void. When the immense war finally reached its death throws, where a hooded, scythe wielding giant as large as a gas giant and a burning god with blood-soaked hands choked the life from each other and died together, they emerged to try and take what was theirs.

They met other peoples, them too cowering in the shade cast by the immense conflict, and soon enough war began to rage over differences in culture and claims to territory and resources. With their forms so warped and ravaged by cancers and tumours, the people of the blasted world could not hope to win the war with conventional means, and so they abandoned their natural forms. Great onyx bodies were built, each one the size of dreadnoughts, a mighty fleet of colossal vessels made from strong, black metal and armed with weapons that fired streams of liquid metal, able to shear through armour and shields alike. The minds of their most merciless and cunning warriors left their bodies and took possession of the great ships.

Their enemies were scattered and annihilated, and the victorious people celebrated, but as the ship-bound minds looked out upon the galaxy, with a perspective granted to them by immortality, seeing the war that had raged before their arrival, the war that raged after their emergence and the wars that raged far away from them on the other side of the galaxy, realised that conflict was the inevitable fate of all life in the galaxy. Each emergent power did battle with those established, and it seemed that all would happen to the galaxy was conflict and misery. Cold, logical minds considered this, and the solution was arrived upon.

**Do you see, then, why we do this?** Archon's voice rumbled, the noise pulling Cyralius from his intrusion into the Reaper's mind back into reality. From the doorway, he could see a glowing orange spot slowly creeping down the seam of the metal portal. **Organic civilisations rise, and if left unchecked the entire galaxy would have spent an eternity in war and anarchy. We are the keepers of order, allowing each people their time before the stage is cleared for the next act. We allow them to live, to expand and develop their culture, and then, when the time is right, we make way for the next peoples.**

Cyralius shook his head.

"Your time is passed," he said. "Humanity's age is come, and you must move aside."

**Your age is over, before it even began,** Archon replied. **We have given you your fair time, but your defiance is unnecessary. Are we not fair? Are we not merciful? Your allotted time has been expended. Give way and die along with the rest of your kind, Astartes.**

"I'm afraid that can't be done," Cyralius replied. "I am sworn under oath to safeguard the realms of humanity until the death, and simply rolling over and dying would a terrible dereliction of duty, something that I would never be able abide."

**Your opinion is irrelevant,** Archon replied as Cyralius gathered psychic force on the end of his staff, the Aquila at its tip beginning to glow with unearthly heat.

"On the contrary, Reaper, yours is," Cyralius replied, raising his staff. "Our victory is a certainty."

He smiled grimly, face cast into harsh light of the hellfire that burned at the end of his weapon.

"From thine own heart, I stab at thee," he said, before unleashing a lance of psychic power. Laced with power and dark matter, the glowing core was thrown into disarray, the spinning rings surrounding it jolting and jarring out of place. Metal melted as the generator went wild, crashing out of place with arcs of jolting electricity, and darkness fell over the room just as the door opened.

Cyralius spun, unleashing a wave of electricity into the enemies that surged forwards, knocking several to the ground before barrelling forwards into the rest. He may not have been half the melee fighter that Malleus, Gaius or Titus were, but was still Astartes and that made him a formidable opponent, his great strength and reactions letting him shove past the enemy before him. He ignored the pain at the back of his skull, focussing on getting past the press of opponents before he broke free of them. He needed to get to the outer hull, and fast; attempting to teleport in his current state of exhaustion could well result in his demise.

Beneath his feet, he could begin to feel the floor gently tip.

A blow struck the back of his armour, and he tumbled, his balance thrown by the steadily increasing incline in the floor. Somehow, he managed to roll into an upright position, coming to rest against a wall that was rapidly becoming a floor, and dived to the left as his enemies that were chasing him suddenly fell, a crush of dark metal that slammed into the wall.

The surface his feet sprinted along was ribbed and bulging, like the gullet of some great animal, and finding a purchase was trickier than he first thought it would be. But he persevered, pushing towards where he thought he might find a hangar, past disorientated Reaper footsoldiers which he knocked away with a blow from his staff, such attacks more than enough to deal with them.

There was a deep, long groan of protesting metal as Cyralius made his way into some kind of storage room of the machine, where spider-like repair drones were scuttling across damaged Reaper soldiers and tending to their wounds, while freshly repaired ones were loaded into hovering carrying racks and pushed away. They worked blindly, ignoring the Epistolary and he in turn ignoring them, knowing he had higher priorities than dealing with these drones.

He broke into a hangar, where several Reaper soldiers turned to face him, trying to board a gunship despite the incline in the floor, but Cyralius paid them little heed; the only attention that he gave them was to smash the head of his staff into the visor of one of his enemies that tried to bar his way towards the open portal in the Reaper's side that the ship would exit from.

He paused at its edge, enough to see Lille slowly rising towards him and murmur "Blessed Emperor, that's a fall," before he stepped out of the exit hole.

He fell, fell without a jump pack or a parachute, gathering together his last reserves of psychic power to repeat the trick he had seen Samara perform when they first saw her on Ilium; to slow his fall with biotics.

Wind screamed past him as he descended, moving towards what he guessed were Council lines, though considering the state they were in just a few minutes before he could be completely off. Nonetheless he persevered, guiding his fall the best that he possibly could before the ground loomed up towards him.

He caught himself in a net of psychobiotic force, landing on his boots and raising his submachinegun as he cast around for any hostiles.

"Titus," he said into the vox bead. "Titus, brother, this is Cyralius. I've dealt with one of the Reapers and am trying to get to friendly lines."

All he got in return was a mess of static, and he tried the frequency again but to no avail. He flicked through the rest of the vox lines, but all of them were jammed with garbled messages and half-heard communications. He knew that comm. operations in the midst of huge scale battles such as this one were hardly easy, hence why the Alliance and indeed the Imperial Guard often depended on runners to pass on information in the middle of a battlefield, but the panic that the sudden arrival of the Reapers had turned the Councils forces' comms into anarchy.

He looked up at the five remaining giants as they hung in the sky and shook his head. Emperor knew how they were going to manage it, but they were still stuck with dealing with those monstrosities.

That, he decided, was not currently his biggest concern, though. Instead, he thought, he had the more pressing issue of trying to get back to friendly lines.


	50. Chapter 49

**Author's note**: Recommended listening: Escape, by Jóhnann Jóhnann, from his album And In the Endless Pause There Came the Sound of Bees, winner of the Colonel Mustard Best Album Title I've Ever Heard Of Award.

Chapter 49-City of the Dead

She awoke to pain.

It burned across her ankle, a red line of agony, and Miranda grimaced as she glanced down, seeing one of the boots she wore at an unnatural angle away from the rest of her. She shifted her position, trying not to put any pressure on the abused joint, and winced as the movement caused the many cuts and bruises across her body to flare up slightly. It was quiet, and she could smell ash on the air.

She remembered, vaguely, crashing through the side of the building as the craft was shot down, falling through the wall in a welter of steel and fire, desperately hoping that her armour would protect her from the whirlwind of shrapnel and shattered glass. Miranda could recall the impact, falling unconscious for a few minutes, waking shortly afterwards only for her exhausted brain to take over and force her into sleep. She could see the wrecked craft just a few metres away from her, embedded in the side of the wall, a burned out hulk.

She pulled herself into a sitting position, hissing in quiet pain, before she fumbled at the utility belt of her armour. Clumsily, her fingers closed on a cylinder of medigel, laying it carefully next to her in easy reach, before she pulled her leg up, yanked and twisted.

She gritted her teeth as she felt bone scrape against bone, turning it despite the protests of her nervous system and pushing it back into place, her eyes wide in shock and pain. Holding the bone down, trying to ignore the fire screaming in the joint, she grabbed the needle with a shaking hand, slid the metal point past the seals in her armour that allowed her to move her feet and injected it. The stuff felt strangely cool as it entered her bloodstream, moving to knit the bone together, and she panted quietly as it went to work. She leant back, resting as best as she could as the injury repaired itself, trying not to lapse into unconsciousness. The air inside her helmet felt hot and heavy, and she pulled it off; her hair, loose from the elastic band that held it in place, fell about her shoulders, lank, greasy and tangled from the heat and sweat of combat.

Slowly, painfully, she pulled herself to her feet as the bone in her foot pulled itself together. She scanned over the blackened and scorched room she had been thrown into, seeing the armoured bodies scattered across it. She called up her omnitool, scanning over them for life signs, before shaking her head; nothing.

Outside, she couldn't hear anything. The city was silent, stark contrast to the cacophony of war that resounded across the ruined metropolis. She flicked through the comm. frequencies, but nothing more than static met her search. She cursed quietly.

She pulled herself to her feet, grimacing from the pain in her ankle as she limped away, looking for a way down. She didn't call for help, knowing that all it would do would bring enemy forces down on her head. Instead, she gritted her teeth and headed to the exit.

The corridor she entered was scorched by fire, and parts of the floor had fallen away, showing the levels below. Bits of the ceiling too had collapsed, small piles of rubble scattered across the floor and the supporting crossbeams, usually hidden above, were now exposed like the ribs of a skinned corpse. Carefully, she hobbled over the floor that looked safe to her, limping slowly with a hand on the wall to support her, and she came to a halt at the end of the corridor as she came to a stairwell. She stopped by a blasted out window, and looked out over what remained of Lille, and her eyes widened in shock.

The red horseman had ridden through the city and left utter ruination in his wake. The once pleasant town had been utterly savaged, ripped apart by the sheer intensity of the battle that had raged in its streets. Roads had been covered in lumps of broken rubble and twisted metal as buildings had collapsed into them, while those structures that remained had been blasted by explosions and scorched by flames, the bare bones of their underlying body all that remained. In the distance was a glossy black hill, and it took her a moment to realise it was a wrecked Reaper, somehow brought down by the Council's forces. The sky was dark with ashy clouds, and she could see the dark shapes of carrion birds flying overhead, cawing raucously as they searched out a meal.

_Not that those will be hard to find_, Miranda thought bitterly, looking at the broken corpses of a few human and Turian soldiers that lay in the street just below her. From her vantage point, she could see no Reaper forces present; no doubt they were all pressing on the Council's beleaguered army, and judging by the fact that she could see no enemy corpses, most of those had probably been dragged away for repair.

She shook her head, stepping away from her vantage point, beginning to carefully, painfully, limp down the stairs. Her goal was, currently, those corpses she had seen below; she could scavenge some thermals and medi-gel from them. From there, she would have to work her way back to friendly lines.

She ended up leaving the building by window, the entryway blocked by rubble, carefully climbing out of the frame of shattered glass to drop onto the dirt and tangled metal, cursing quietly and biting back a sob as she landed awkwardly, pain flaring in her injured ankle. She wanted to sit down, take a rest, but instead she hobbled towards the bodies, wincing with each step.

She fell to her knees by the bodies, fumbling through the webbing of one of the bodies, taking a few canisters of medi-gel from within and injecting another into her damaged ankle. She took a few thermals with hands that were shaking, ignoring the fact that one of them was sticky with congealed blood, before picking up the man's Avenger from where it lay in the dirt, clamping it in place over her shoulder. She stooped by a length of twisted metal, picking it up carefully, trying not to put pressure on her injured limb and used it as a staff to support her, pulling herself up on it.

A crow flapped down, landing on one of the nearby corpses, pecking at the bullet wound in the body armour the dead man wore, pulling a chunk of meat from the gash. It swallowed its grisly meal, before it hopped in a circle and regarded her curiously with glossy black eyes. It cawed hopefully.

"I'm not dead yet," Miranda said to the bird in reply, pulling herself painfully to her feet.

She hobbled away from the bodies, limping slowly towards a burned out building, unwilling to stay out in the open for too long. She flicked through various light spectra with her bionic, scanning for danger, but she could see nothing ahead.

Her journey was painfully slow, Miranda limping and shuffling like some beggar or crone through the ruined city. She passed corpses splayed across the streets, human, Turian, Asari, Salarian and Krogan, all made equal in death. Shattered buildings reared from the ground like broken teeth or snapped bones, while wrecked and fire-gutted vehicles were evident all across the city, blasted apart by the Reapers' beam weapons. That wouldn't do; if she wanted to get back to Council lines quickly, she would need to find one that could actually drive.

She made it maybe halfway across town before she was forced to stop, every other step now eliciting a flair of pain in her ankle. Her jaw hurt from where it had been clenched together, and she bit back a sob as she sat down, feeling the sting of tears in her remaining eye. She wouldn't cry, she told herself. It was only pain. Crying was weak and she couldn't be weak; she had to be strong. That was one of the first lessons her father had taught her, that all people had respected was strength and that was all that kept them in line; not brute force, of course not, but you had to be steel if you wanted respect. She remembered reading in _The Prince_, a book prescribed to her at the age of eight by order of her father, that it was better to be feared than to be loved, and her father had always told her that that was the greatest truth when it came to dealing with people.

Just another part of his moulding, she reflected bitterly. But look at her now; stranded behind enemy lines with a ravaged ankle, her genetically tailored looks marred with an ugly, lumpen bionic. She could probably get something more elegant, but she wouldn't; the artificial eye that clung to her cheekbone, forehead, nose and temple felt strong, resilient, and that was what she was being. She had beaten him, saved Oriana, got her safely away and now here she was, shattering every one of his hopes for his would-be heir with everything she did. If he could see her now, working as an unpaid Alliance soldier in arguably the most dangerous place in the galaxy, stealing from the dead, he'd probably die of shock.

"I've won," she triumphantly announced to nobody in particular, smiling vacantly. "I beat you, dad. In every single way. Look at me now!"

She took one of her scavenged medi-gel canisters, leant down and injected it into her ankle, feeling the third dosage of the viscous liquid wrap around the broken bone and get to work in pulling the calcium back together. No doubt it would have to be treated properly once she got back to Alliance lines, and possibly even re-broken after its treatment; even if that wasn't the case, treating damaged bones with medi-gel was rarely reliable, usually leaving excessive growths of calcium once it was finished, and that would have to be dealt with in any case.

She leant up, savouring the feeling of the gel as it cooled the burning in her ankle, scanning her surroundings for-

Movement. Just ahead of her, a stone skittering down the top of a pile of scree. She tensed, eyes flicking across the facade of a ruined building, scanning for any threats. One hand went to her weapon, the other dropping the empty gel canister, before she pushed it into her shoulder as it unfolded and, with inching caution, pulled herself to her feet.

"Who's there?" she asked.

Silence answered her query, and she crept forwards slowly. She could feel her heartbeat beginning to increase in pace, drumming in her ear and she took a deep breath to try and keep herself steady.

"Come out," she ordered. After a few moments, she changed tack. "I'm a friend. I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to know who you are."

Quiet met this request, before a moment later a face peered round the corner to look at her. Then the watcher stepped into full view.

It was a child. Her face was scratched and slightly bruised, grubby with dirt, and her brown hair was matted with dirt and grease, and she looked at Miranda with tired, frightened eyes. She was, at Miranda's guess, about six or seven years old, though she looked aged by hunger and fear. Miranda felt a pang of sympathy in her gut as she realised what the girl must have been through in the last few weeks, living as a survivor in a Reaper-occupied city; no child should have to go through that.

"It's alright," Miranda said gently. "I'm here to help."

The girl looked at the heavily armoured woman warily, and Miranda smiled gently.

"I'm Miranda," she said. "What's your name?"

The girl was quiet, before she mumbled nervously; "Antoinette. Antoinette Loiselle."

"Alright, Antoinette," Miranda said. "Is there anyone looking after you?"

The girl seemed to think for a moment, before she shook her head.

Miranda nodded, before she said; "Are you alright, Antoinette? Do you need anything?"

"I'm hungry," the girl said after a moment's thought. "I can't find anything to eat."

Miranda reached to the webbing on her armour and pulled a ration bar from one of the pouches in it, holding it out to the girl. Antoinette stepped forwards after a few cautious moments and took it, unwrapping it and biting down on the calorie-rich food, too hungry to care for the fact that it tasted like stale porridge compressed into a rough block.

"Antoinette, I was going to get to somewhere safer than here. I can take you with me."

Antoinette nodded, and stepped forwards carefully. She extended a thin, dirty hand and Miranda slung her rifle over her shoulder before taking it, still leaning on her staff of broken rebar.

Together, they went into the ruins of Lille.

#

They had found the jeep after an hour of searching through the shattered city. One of its doors had been ripped away, but its engine started and the sturdy four wheel drive was able to navigate its way through the rubble strewn streets with relative ease. Antoinette was sitting in the cupola, once Miranda had deactivated the machine gun mounted up there, keeping a lookout for anyone potentially hostile, while the Lady Castellan was in the driver's seat, trying to ignore the pain in her ankle as she drove.

"Are we going home?" Antoinette asked after a few silent minutes of driving.

Miranda paused for a moment, unsure of what to say, before she answered honestly; "No. We're going somewhere else, somewhere safer."

"I want to go home," Antoinette said after a moment.

Miranda frowned at this. It would have, she felt, almost be better if there had been a hint of childish anger or tantrum-like frustration in there at not getting here way, but Antoinette simply sounded resigned and disappointed. Somehow, that was even more upsetting.

They broke free of the city limits, entering the countryside around Lille. The more open landscape was equally battered by the attentions of the war, craters blasted in fields and country roads, crop arcologies knocked apart, while the wrecks of vehicles and more bodies were scattered across them. Miranda flicked through radio channels as she drove on, searching for some friendly signal, but she could find nothing. Either the Reapers were jamming it or she was too far away for short range communications. She needed to get back, even if it was simply for the sake of getting her unexpected charge to safety.

"I can see someone," Antoinette suddenly called down to her.

"Who?" Miranda asked. "Are they friendly?"

"That way," Antoinette said. "I don't think they can see us. But it's the same people at Lille; they're all wearing black. They're dangerous."

Miranda pulled to a halt, shutting down the ignition, before she hissed to Antoinette; "Get out. Come on, we need to hide."

Antoinette was already climbing down from the cupola, and clambered free of the vehicle. Together, they hurried free, Miranda limping as fast as she could. They scrambled past the ditch on the side of the road, fleeing through a field before they found a hiding place, a foxhole dug into the side of the road, a toppled tree covering it from view.

"They saw the car," Antoinette hissed as she climbed down, helped by Miranda. "I think they're coming this way."

They crouched down, pressing against the side of the hole. Unconsciously, they huddled together, listening out for any sign of danger.

"I'm scared," Antoinette whispered.

"Be brave," Miranda replied. "We'll be alright, I promise."

They fell silent, unwilling to risk any noise, every moment seeming to draw itself out and string time along. They strained their ears, listening out in the quiet for anything that approached.

The sound of boots crunching on gravel reached their ears, and they pressed closer together in mutual fear. Normally, Miranda could have probably taken a small squad of these enemies if she was quick and clever, but she was exhausted and with a broken ankle. She doubted she could manage one in her current state.

Instead, she pressed herself against the dirt sides of the foxhole-come-crater, trying to hide from view. Antoinette huddled close to her, barely daring to breathe, and Miranda whispered; "Don't be afraid; we'll be fine. I promise."

There was a thump as a foot landed by the fallen tree-trunk, and they huddled together in order to hide from view, Miranda taking Antoinette's hand in hers even as her heart hammered in her chest. They were utterly silent, not daring to breathe, both of them too afraid of the consequences of making any noise whatsoever.

There was the sound of retreating footsteps, and but they didn't move. They waited for well over an hour, simply lying still in their shelter, not daring to make any movement, but finally they emerged. Darkness was beginning to fall.

Still holding hands, Miranda and the child she had taken into her care made for their vehicle and friendly lines.


	51. Chapter 50

**Content warning**: The following chapter may cause you to cry man tears (or possibly woman tears, though as far as I can tell my readership is entirely male). Colonel Mustard can take no responsibility for emotional outbursts or women thinking you're cute because of it.

Though seriously, just use that as an opportunity to work the sensitive angle. You misogynistic, manipulative bastard.

Also, 150,000 words, whoo!

Chapter 50-Storm of the Emperor's Wrath

Zaeed was dead.

It had been sudden. One round into his stomach after his shields had failed, the mercenary doubling over, dropping his rifle before righting himself. Pistol drawn and cursing furiously, he fired a brace of shots before a second hit his shoulder and forced him to drop the weapon.

He had survived one shot to the head more than twenty years ago. He had been lucky then, lucky and angry. Yet all his rage failed to save him a second time.

His body was still out there one the distant battlefield, prone and broken and irrecoverable until the war ended. Most likely it would end up in a mass grave; there would be a lot of them dug once this war was over.

"We can't win this, not here," Suvat said as he looked over the holographic map in the command tent. "And there's no way we can fall back either. Not with those Reapers still in the air."

Titus nodded as he looked over the projection. It made for grim stuff, casualty figures skyrocketing, nearly all of their planes shot down or grounded for repairs. Much of their armour had been obliterated, while their VTOLs were grounded while the dreadnoughts hung overhead, and aircraft packed with fleeing soldiers and wounded would be all-too-easy targets for their lethal guns.

The Geth had made a push on them, hours earlier, but the Reapers had been forewarned somehow; despite the synthetics' spirited attempt at combating them, they had been repelled, blasted from the skies and forced into flight. No other help seemed forthcoming. Even with the Reaper-made anti-orbital gun that they had managed to capture, they had no way of fending them off, not without time to dig in and examine the weapon properly, to reverse engineer its secrets. Most likely they would need Kullas for that, but with him on the Citadel that wouldn't be happening for some time yet.

"So," Suvat said. "Anyone have a plan? Of any kind?"

"We fight," Wrex said. "We don't have any choice in the matter anyway, so we may as well go down with some style."

"Unfortunately, that won't win us the war," Titus said. "We need some way of taking those Reapers out of commission. After that, we can fall back, dig in and prepare for whatever comes next."

"What about the Thunderhawk?" Mehriss suggested. "If we pooled all our remaining planes together-"

"The Reapers would guess what we're up to and would bring even more of theirs onto the field," Suvat said. "We'd be outnumbered, and we'd have no way for it to get close enough for a good shot with that laser."

Silence fell over the small prefab command building that had been set up within Calais, broken only by the sounds of distant explosions and gunfire.

"I believe," Cyralius said after a moment. "That I may have the solution."

"You do?" Mehriss asked.

"Indeed," Cyralius said. "I have given it much thought, and I think it's our best possible chance against the Reapers."

"How are you going to do that?" Titus asked.

"It's somewhat complex," Cyralius replied. "But all I need to do is get as close as I can to the enemy. After that, I can deal with them."

#

The team had shrunk. Before, they had been sixteen strong, but fate had stripped that away from them; Gaius, Jacob, Hullen and Zaeed dead, Thane leaving, Malleus, Kullas and Samara on the Citadel, Tali with Yamzarat Machtoro and Miranda disappeared. All that remained was Jack, Grunt, Legion, Garrus and Mordin, as well as Cyralius and Okeen, just half of their original number.

"Our mission is simple," Titus said. "We're moving as close as we safely can to those Reapers and Cyralius says he'll be able to deal with them from there. That's it. Any questions?"

None were asked, and the team moved out.

Titus could see their exhaustion as he lead the way through the Council lines, tiredness etched on the face of every one of them. In the last thirty six hours, they had managed to snatch but a few of sleep, and even then the time in between was occupied only by the furious whirlwind of combat or attempts to coordinate and plan forces. Through the ruined city they went, past triage stations for the wounded, past thudding artillery batteries and chattering flak, into combat itself. They hit the frontlines, fighting through the attempts of the Reapers to stop them, sweeping aside resistance. Cyralius, Titus noticed, seemed to be being sparing with his powers, but considering how much he had been using them the last few days, Titus wasn't surprised; either that, or he was saving them for whatever it was he had planned.

The combat was a furious affair, enemy fire a near constant factor as Reaper soldiers pushed in endlessly. However many were cut down, there were always more ready to try and avenge their comrade's end, and they reached the very edges of the Alliance front when Titus called their advance to a halt.

"This is as far as we can go," he called to Cyralius, levelling his shotgun and blasting a foe from its feet with two squeezes of the trigger. "Close enough?"

"It'll have to be," Cyralius replied. "Well, this is it."

He emptied the magazine of his submachine gun into the chest of a Reaper soldier, before he clipped it to his belt. He slammed both of his fists together over his breastplate and bowed his head to Titus, before said; "Brother, it has been an honour. Keep an eye on Jack for me."

The Epistolary dared not look at Jack as she pulverised a trio of enemies with a biotic shockwave. If he did, he feared he would most likely lose all resolve for what he was about to do.

Instead, he spread his arms wide, staff held in one hand as he drew in power from the infinite well of the Warp. Ribbons of light streamed around him as he began to rise gently into the air, spiralling over his form as he began to float higher and higher. Titus watched transfixed as Empyreal energy flowed into Cyralius' form, the Son of Thunder becoming a glowing beacon in the sky as bright as any signal flare.

A wind began to blow, tugging at the tattered remnants of the banner and any loose material, while Cyralius rose further, supported by a shining column of pyschobiotic power, arms still held wide. Above his head, dark cloud began to swirl in a whirlpool, a vortex of smoky black crisscrossed with flashes of lightning. He broke past the height of Calais' battered buildings, still climbing, and the battle began to lull as soldiers on both sides bore witness to the spectacle occurring right before their eyes. He was at the eye of a dervish of impossible energies, one that whirled around him like a miniature hurricane, a glowing sphere of spinning light that hid him from view.

"_They shall be my finest warriors, these men who give themselves to me,_" Cyralius' gentle tenor sounded across the battlefield, unspoken yet heard by every ear. "_Like clay I shall mould them, and in the furnace of war forge them. They will be of iron will and steely muscle. In great armour shall I clad them and with the mightiest guns will they be armed._"

Sensing a threat, the five Reapers that presided over the battlefield like judges raised their weapon arms to fire, screaming beams of hyper-accelerated liquid metal spearing into the ball of psychobiotic energy that surrounded Cyralius. Instead of destroying him, he simply captured it and added it to the whirlwind of pure power around him, taking it for his own.

"_They will be untouched by plague or disease, no sickness will blight them,_" Cyralius spoke further, gathering yet more power around him. At the very eye of his psychic storm, he could feel his skin prickling from the unnatural energies that screamed around him. "_They will have tactics, strategies and machines so that no foe can best them in battle. They are my bulwark against the Terror. They are the Defenders of Humanity. They are my Space Marines and they shall know no fear._"

It seemed to reach a peak, energy coruscating around him even faster, an unstoppable hurricane of pure, undiluted insanity.

"I am Cyralius Lockheim of the Sons of Thunder!" Cyralius' voice rang across the field. "I am the oncoming storm! I am the lightning of His wrath! I am the thunder of His hate! For the Emperor! For all the Galaxy!"

The hold he had kept upon his gathered power, wound tight as a spring, was released.

A wave of roiling dark energy and Warp matter burst from Cyralius' airborne position in a single great ring, screaming through the air at breakneck speed. Flame, lightning, ice and thunder boiled around each other, writhing with dark matter, combining into one unstoppable, impossible force of focussed, reality-bending insanity.

It the Reapers, a single blast wave that ripped past their kinetic barriers, sheared through their hulls and tore through the other side without even slowing, slicing past them as if they weren't even there. The massive craft fell, cut in two, sedately crashing towards earth as the ring pure power screamed outwards and cut itself out.

Cyralius fell.

From where she had been watching the spectacle, stunned into awed silence like every other onlooker, Jack hurried forwards, watching him fall to the ground limp and lifeless. She watched for him to make some kind of indication that he was alive, but she could see nothing.

She reached upwards, catching him in a net of biotic energy and lowering him gently to the ground, scrambling to his side as she searched for any signs of life. He wasn't breathing.

He wasn't breathing.

He wasn't breathing.

Cyril. Wasn't. _Breathing_.

Jack's hands scrabbled at his neck, trying to find a pulse, murmuring a frantic mantra of denial that this could possibly be happening. Think, think, think. Where was the pulse? Was it on the left or the right, the left or the right? Where was it, where was it?

She cursed, trying to find it, but nothing answered the desperate search of her questing fingers.

Chest compressions. Beat his heart for him, bring Cyril back. Bring him back alive. He had to stay alive, had to stay alive. He couldn't die.

"Come on, Cyril," she murmured desperately, trying to find a way to get past his chestplate, glancing over him with clouded eyes for a catch or release. "Don't die on me, Cyril, please. You can't, please, please don't!"

She swore, unable to find anything. How was she supposed to do it if she couldn't get past his armour? She needed to save him!

"Cyril!" she cried out desperately, beating furiously at his chest with her fists. "Cyril, don't die! You can't!"

She slumped on his chestplate as he lay in the mud, not breathing, nothing, crying like a child.

"Please!" she wailed. "Just wake up, Cyril, wake up! You can't do this to me!"

Jack cursed, grabbing the gorget of Cyralius' armour and shaking it furiously, but her attempts to rouse him did nothing but roll his head to one side.

"Come on!" she shouted. "I need you, Cyril! You can't die! You can't!"

She grabbed his head, holding it and leaning close, whimpering; "You can't die, Cyril. Damnit, you can't. Wake up! _Wake up_!"

"Get her out of the way," someone said from behind her, but Jack ignored it, cursing and pleading to Cyril to just wake up, before an arm hooked itself around her stomach and pulled her away.

"Let go of me!" she shouted as Okeen stepped forwards, Narthecium held ready. "LET ME GO!"

She thrashed wildly, struggling against the arm that held her, insensible with fear and grief, kicking blindly. Someone was trying to say something to her, but she couldn't hear it through the haze of tears and wild terror that she would lose Cyril.

"He needs me!" she shouted. "Get off me! Cyril needs me!"

She screamed, a noise of pure frustrated fear, still kicking and madly fighting the grasp that held her.

Okeen placed a pair of pads over Cyril's chestplate, clamping them in place before he tapped something on his narthecium and the Epistolary convulsed.

"What are you doing!" Jack screamed, kicking and struggling madly. "Let me go! You're hurting him! LEAVE CYRIL ALONE!"

"Again," Okeen said, tapping the button once more. There was a snapping noise and Cyralius jolted upwards. "Come on, brother."

Jack pushed against the ceramite-wrapped arm holding her back, too frantic to even consider using her biotics to break free, cursing and weeping.

"Once more," the Apothecary said. "Applying voltage."

Cyralius convulsed.

"I've got a heartbeat," Okeen announced. "I have a heartbeat!"

Cyralius' eyelids flickered open, and he coughed, a puff of black smoke leaking from his mouth before he took a breath of ashy, dust choked air. Jack felt the arm holding her in place loosen, and she bolted forwards, grabbing the Astartes in an embrace before he seemed to know what was happening.

"Thank god," she murmured quietly, burying her face in his neck. "Oh thank god you're alright, Cyril. Shit. I…I don't…shit!"

"Jack," Cyralius said gently, his voice hoarse. He placed an arm around her, holding her gently, and smiled quietly.

She was quiet for a moment, before she murmured; "Don't do that again. Please."

"I promise," he said. "You have my word on that."

There was a long, quiet silence, and for a moment at least, all Cyralius and Jack had and needed were each other.


	52. Chapter 51

Chapter 51-Omnissah's Judgement

Kullas had been in a trance for several hours now. In the Council Chamber he stood, fingers splayed gently over the holographic display before him. It was a large thing, reams of data written in some tongue that no living linguist could understand scrolling across the hovering light. Charts showing information unbeknownst to all but Kullas were on display, lines and bars fluctuating as statistics and figures changed by the moment.

A gentle litany of binaric chattered from his position as he communed with the ancient machine spirit of the massive station, attuning his very being with the intelligence that controlled the structure. Through its mechanical mind he travelled, his own consciousness seeming vastly insignificant in comparison to that which governed the Citadel, but despite this, even more powerful; the Citadel may have been ancient and constructed by artificial intelligences, but Kullas was both organic and machine, supported by the knowledge of the Adeptus Mechanicus and far greater than the sum of his parts.

Ancient security systems rose up to confront him as he pushed further and further into its mind, but he simply bypassed them, trapping them in reams of data that confounded them and allowed him access with ease. Alerts were caught before they could be sent, and one by one Kullas moved across the system, dealing with each and every measure the Citadel's security tried to halt him with one by one, slowly but surely forcing it to comply with his will. Life support was found, and at strategic points he vented atmosphere, or altered the gravity to crush enemies and topple buildings upon them. Every auxiliary system that was used to maintain every day living on the station became his to view and command as he pleased, and soon enough, as the very last of the station's programming came under his control, Kullas found what he was looking for.

"Brother Captain," he announced to Malleus, who was waiting patiently behind the Forge Priest for him to finish his work. "I have our generators. We are ready."

#

The plan had changed somewhat. Instead of setting up generators at the tips of the arms, Kullas had simply located ones already there and, with his newfound mastery of the Citadel's systems, taken control of them. One was a power source for the maglev railway system that ran throughout the Kolaera arm, the second a ship's drive core in Cord-Hislop Aerospace's shipyard on the Citadel, hooked up to the station's grid for testing. The third was part of the experimental Light Herathon Collapser facility, the massive power draws needed for the experiments on the quantum particles resulting in it needing its own, independent substation. The fourth was drawn from the generators in the Eezo refineries at the end of the Zakera arm, but the fifth lacked any that was situated close enough. Instead, the Normandy now clung to the tip of the arm, cables tapping into the power grid and stealth systems activated, awaiting Kullas' signal.

There was a faint humming sound as the Forge Priest stepped along the gantry of the landing bay he had chosen as his firing station. His bionic eye glowed like some ruby as he kept a remote link to the vast network of the Citadel's systems, ready to command and channel, the advanced cybernetics working to their limit in order to contain and control the colossal amounts of data flowing through his systems.

He stepped to the very end of the platform, raising the weapon and sighting down into the void, looking through the advanced sights of his bolter in search of his target.

"Brother Captain, are you in position?" he asked across the Vox.

"Aye," Malleus said. "We're ready to defend the shipyard."

"The mag-lev's secured," Ashley added on the channel.

"And we're dug in on the Collapser," Samara said. "We're ready for anything."

Kullas nodded.

"EDI, is the Normandy ready?" he said.

"It is," EDI replied. "Beginning system interface now."

Kullas grimaced as he felt the AI's digital consciousness slide into his own, systems intermingling in preparation. He was almost at full capacity now, the being of the Normandy his to observe along with that of the Citadel, and he began to worry that he was going to have to commit the unthinkable act of overclocking simply so he could aim straight.

He freed up CPU by releasing control over some of the Citadel's minor automatic systems and ending a few life support processes in enemy-controlled territory, he picked his target. Hyper-enhanced, bionically augmented eyesight saw through the thousands of miles between the Citadel and the besieging fleet, picking out his target despite the distance.

"Second Lieutenant Williams," he said into the vox suddenly. "I believe there is a legend in the religious canon of the Abrahamic faiths of an individual who killed a giant with a stone from a sling, correct?"

"David and Goliath, yeah," Ashley said.

"Indeed," Kullas said. "I believe I am about to put him to shame."

And with that, he fired.

The first shell of the magazine of adamantium-cored Kraken bolts was struck from the rear by the hammer, the firing pin activating the propellant and sending it moving at a speed of just over two thousand metres per second. Within a third of a second, it was seven hundred metres from him, and it was then that the mass effect generators activated. Lightning crackled into it from the tips of the five arms, catching the shell and sending the one and a half kilogram shell moving at a speed of two hundred and eighty five million metres per second, a speed that bent and warped the very fabric of reality around the bullet.

The shell hit its target with a gigaton of force, ripping through the shields and into the hull of the Reaper. The sheer power of the impact warped its armour, crushing it in on itself as the sheer frictional force of adamantium against whatever dark metal made the dreadnought up generated heat to melt both to atoms. Even with a tonnage in the millions, the massive ship was sent moving, gently drifting away with an immense hole punched into it, internal mechanisms completely ruined by the hit.

Across the Citadel, lights dimmed and machinery powered down, the energy draw demanded by the firing draining everything else. After a moment, electricity returned, and Kullas nodded as he mentally looked through. Even with safety parameters on the power draws bypassed, the generators were still able to fire.

A second shot screamed free of the Citadel, the red-shift effect on the shell leaving a crimson trail in the eye that faded from view, another Reaper struck down. The three remaining ships began to flee, but Kullas simply adjusted his aim, calculating their position in regards to their speed, and fired. The lights on the station grew dim once more as a third Reaper died, and Kullas checked the systems. Still able to work.

"Brother, we've got enemy forces on our position," Malleus' voice warned across the vox, the sound of gunfire faintly audible in the background. "You may wish to hurry up the ship elimination."

"Understood, Brother Captain," Kullas replied, carefully aiming. He fired once more, and a split second later the shell hit a Reaper with the force to crack a continent, the shell ripping through its hull and crushing it in on itself.

He could see warning signals beginning to come through, and EDI chimed; "We will need time for the generators to cool."

"We will not have it," Kullas replied, seeing the Reaper beginning to hew towards the Citadel in a desperate bid to try and halt the horrifying weapon. "In the Omnissah's name, I strike ye down, scum!"

The shot was accompanied by a distant explosion, and the entirety of the Kolaera arm blacked out, but his mission was complete. Kullas' arm dropped as the final Reaper was near-obliterated, smashed into debris, and he diverted power to the arm before he released control over the Citadel's computer systems, pausing only to divert power to the arm along backup cables.

"What just happened?" Ashley's voice came in from the vox. "The place just went up in flames."

"Apologies, Second Lieutenant," Kullas said. "I miscalculated the effects of the power draw. Are you injured?"

"We're fine," Ashley said. "Still, I've a weird sight over here."

"What's that?" Malleus asked.

Even across the vox, Kullas could tell she was smiling as she said; "We've got ourselves a whole load of surrendering Batarians."

She laughed.

"It's a sight for sore eyes, believe me."

#

The Batarian delegation that had been sent out to parley with the forces defending the Citadel ring were understandably nervous as Malleus met them at the base of the tower. Some two hours had passed, the time filled with the threat of Kullas firing once more on the Batarian fleet. The four-eyed aliens had fallen back to their more heavily dug in positions while Malleus had warned across all radio channels that the Forge Priest was prepared to cast his judgement upon the fleet once more. That was an out and out lie, but with the unstoppable power that he had at his disposal not one of the aliens was prepared to call his bluff.

The final Reaper soldiers had fought to the last, either unaware or uncaring of their controllers' demise, but with the Batarians gone and the determination and resolve of the beleaguered C-Sec forces boosted by their unexpected victory they were dealt with without much difficulty. The Yahg had been more stubborn, but without support they were eventually forced back.

One of the Batarians that was to meet Malleus stepped forwards, this one one of the few not wearing some kind of military uniform; instead he wore a suit.

"You are in charge here?" Malleus asked.

"I am, yes," the Batarian replied. "Prime Minister Thallen of the Batarian Hegemony."

"And you were the one who joined the Reapers in alliance?" Malleus said.

"We were forced into it," Thallen said. "We had little choice."

Malleus nodded, before his submachine gun unfolded in his hands, and he said; "Then by the authority granted to me as senior commander in the Council military I find you guilty of supreme treason against life itself, and sentence you to death."

Before the alien could try to flee, the weapon chattered in his hands and the Batarian fell to the ground, limp and lifeless.

"Who is second in command here?" Malleus demanded, stepping forward with the firearm still held in his hands. There was a silence. "Well?"

"That would be me," one of them said, this one wearing some kind of general's uniform. "Are you going to shoot me too, then?"

"Not necessarily," Malleus said. "Though considering the circumstances under which we meet, I am sorely tempted."

To his credit, the Batarian held his ground, and asked; "What do you want?" 

"An answer," Malleus said. "What motivated you to join the Reapers?"

"We were forced into an alliance at gunpoint," the general replied. "It was either join them and be spared or have every Batarian in the Hegemony killed. We had no choice."

"You had the choice of not collaborating with the greatest monsters to ever crawl into galactic history," Malleus said. "You had the choice of not causing the deaths of hundreds of thousands, if not millions, on this station. You had the choice of acting with honour and not spiting our collective foe."

"That's preposterous," Batarian snapped. "Our people would have been killed."

"They would be killed anyway," Malleus answered. "When we face the Reapers, either we fight, or we die; it is as simple as that. Perhaps we will die when we fight, but at the very least we will go down with glory. At the very least, we will have taken a stand. Because the Reapers are not creatures that make deals, they are not creatures that act mercifully, they are not creatures that keep promises. Their entire purpose of being is to serve only themselves, without regard for others, and you made the mistake of joining them. And look what that has led to."

The Batarian simply looked at him, unreadable black eyes trying to size up the Astartes' glacial countenance, before it said; "What do you want."

"I am going to offer you redemption," Malleus said. "Either you join me and the rest of galaxy in the fight against the Reapers, or you die. Either by the hands of the Reapers, should they succeed in vanquishing the Council's forces, or through the efforts of an extremely angry galaxy that will no doubt see you as traitors."

"We could still take this station, you know," the general replied.

"Kullas can eliminate your fleet from here, and then you would have to deal with me," Malleus replied. "You and I both know that trying such a thing would be pure foolishness."

The Batarian nodded.

"I can't argue with that," he said, shaking his head. "Fine, Scandarum, we'll fight for you, so long as you don't kill us all."

Malleus nodded, before he said; "Provided you don't give me cause to, I won't."

"Glad to hear that," the general said.

"Good," Malleus said. He smiled wryly. "Now I simply need to deal with the Yahg."


	53. Chapter 52

Chapter 52-Final Preparations

"Admirals, I can understand your concern for your people to a certain extent," Malleus said to the small gathering of Quarians before him. "But there is a line between caution and cowardice, and I'm beginning to think that you are on the wrong side of it."

The Admiralty Board meeting hall of the Rayya was silent for a moment as the leaders of the Quarian people looked carefully at the two Astartes standing before them in the small, stepped arena that they met in. They were hesitant about what to say to the massive, imposing figures before them, before the one Kullas remembered as Admiral Koris spoke; "The situation so far has been a delicate one, Scandarum Vas Valaso Darundah. We have to be certain about committing our forces and how many we can commit. We have to look to our own borders as much as any other; even in these times, pirates and slavers are a constant threat."

"As far as I am aware," Malleus said. "Most of these pirates and slavers are in the Local System fighting the Reapers, along with, of all things, the Geth. That threat is a far less credible one than it used to be. There is the far more credible threat of the Reapers, and the Migrant Fleet is the largest in the galaxy."

"Even so, the Migrant Fleet is not one of warships," Shala'Raan said from the pedestal she occupied at the rear-centre of the pit, the entire thing surrounded by suited Quarians. "We have few enough dedicated fighting vessels as it is."

Malleus nodded, before he said; "That is a fair point. But the Quarian people must do their part alongside the rest of the galaxy. Your people have a reputation as thieves who inadvertently released the Geth upon the galaxy, and contributing nothing to this war will not help that in the slightest."

"Reputation is only of so much use," one of them in a grey enviro-suit replied. Admiral Han'Gerrel, Malleus remembered. Kullas had spoken highly of him. "The fact is that we will be risking the lives of our people."

"As has everyone else," Malleus said. "We are fighting against extinction here and victory still hangs in the balance. The Quarians could well be the factor that tips it in our favour."

"I still can't see the benefit," Han'Gerrel said.

"You simply want the Geth to weaken themselves so you might have a better chance at getting your ridiculous idea of invading the homeworld through the Conclave," Koris replied. "And just when they've proven themselves willing to negotiate and cooperate with organics."

Everyone had a key, Malleus knew, something that would bring them round. For some, like Aria, it was power, for others it was money. For Quarians, Malleus knew, it was their lost homeworld. It was to time to slip it into the lock and turn.

"The Geth are indeed open to negotiation," Malleus said. "And they have made a very positive impression on the Alliance, the Turian Hierarchy, the Asari Republics and Salarian Conglomerate; I would be unsurprised if they were to be offered embassy on the Citadel should we all survive this. The Geth have come out of the shadows and offered their aid in the war and already they are gaining potential power; even the Krogan have been willing to make sacrifices, and they are getting more and more respect for it by the day. But the Quarians have done nothing but watch and wait, and should the matter of the Homeworld come up then the Geth will have the weight of the galactic powers behind them, not your people."

There was a lengthy pause, before Shala'Raan asked; "What exactly are you saying, Malleus Vas Valaso Darundah?"

"I am saying that aiding the war effort now may well return Rannoch to you once it is over," Malleus said. "Think about it for a moment, Admirals; going back to a world where you are no longer trapped by your enviro-suits, and within your lifetimes as well."

Quarians were more expressive with their body language out of simple habit, faces concealed by the darkened glass of the masks they wore, and he could see several sitting forwards in sudden interest. The Admirals tried to maintain a more neutral interest, but Malleus had them; the crowd here was large, over a hundred Quarians coming to catch a glimpse of two of the famed Astartes, and to refuse a promise like that in front of so many of their people would lead to them being ousted from power in no time whatsoever.

"You could do that?" Daro'Xen asked.

"I'm quite sure that I could," Malleus said. "At the very least I could facilitate negotiations; the chance to return to your ancestral home without bloodshed is one that you cannot pass up."

Han'Gerrel nodded, before he said; "We can't spare any vessels, but the Migrant Fleet Marines are a different matter; they're some of finest ship-to-ship combatants in the galaxy, second to none."

"We could definitely send a few companies worth," Shala'Raan said.

"They would be a fine contribution," Malleus said. "I will need as many as I possibly can."

The rest of the short meeting was easy; Malleus had them on his side, and the rest was simply working out numbers. After that, he simply had one more stop to make and then he would be on his way to Earth once more.

#

The massive cargo haulers had met the Batarian fleet in orbit above Noveria, and already shuttles were flitting from civilian to military vessels and back again, depositing at least some of the ships' payload to the crews within. Only a few hundred of the lasrifles they held were being given out, the rest being kept for distribution once they arrived at earth, and even then only for a select number; Malleus dared not trust the Batarians with weapons as powerful as them yet, and instead they were being given to C-Sec personnel and the contingent of Migrant Fleet Marines on the fleet. Most of those were spending their time positioned just by the bridges of the more important Batarian vessels, ready to move in and deal with the captains should word be given, the four-eyed aliens kept as allies at gunpoint.

The Yahg, on the other hand, had been fairly simple to deal with; Malleus simply beat their leader, a giant beast called 'Gharex', in single combat, and strong as it was Malleus had been able to defeat it with little difficulty. Apparently, Malleus was the first non-Yahg the bestial aliens seemed to respect, and currently that was enough to keep them in line. He wasn't going to trust them with any lasrifles yet, though.

Yuri Rasenkov had given Malleus his personal promise that they were up to a good enough standard, and Malleus felt confident that, in this at least, he would be as good as his word.

Soon enough, the forces that were to be armed had been equipped, and the small fleet turned for the relay, the haulers in tow. Soon enough, they would be returning to the Local System, coming back to Terra. Soon enough, the time would come for the final blow to be struck against the Reaper menace. Only time would tell as to whether victory or defeat was to follow.

#

"I can see it!" Antoinette called suddenly. "I can see the ocean, Miranda!"

"You can?" the Miranda asked, drawing the jeep to a halt as it came to the crest of the hilll. She gave a tired smile as she saw the English Channel stretched before them, sunlight catching on the crest of waves, diamonds on green-grey velvet, no longer an indistinct blur on the horizon. They were close now, too close to give up.

"Do you see anything else?" Miranda asked, scanning around.

"Over to the left," Aintoinette said. "I think I can see buildings as well. Smoke."

Miranda risked a little pain, getting out of their transport and gingerly pulling herself up on the cupola until she was level with Antoinette. A few miles away, she could see a city burning as it sat on the coast, weapons fire and artillery crossing back and forth past its limits. She nodded to herself; the Council's forces were still here, and they still had a way out of here. As she'd hoped, following the trails left by the aircraft that had streaked overhead had lead her here. Now they just had to break through enemy lines.

She turned the jeep westwards toward Calais, setting her sights for the large expanse of flat tarmac on its border where the spaceport was, still fiercely contested judging by the firefights that raged near its bounds. All she had to do was make her way across the grassy, hilly terrain before her, through that wall of fire and to safety.

"Antoinette, come down and strap in," Miranda said. "It's going to be a bumpy ride from now on."

She did as she was asked, and Miranda laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, flashing her a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm getting us through that, I promise."

"I'm not," Antoinette said, giving Miranda one of her own. "You're too good to let anything bad like that happen, Miranda."

The Lady Castellan kissed her gently on the forehead, and she added; "And you seem too brave to be worried. Now hold on tight."

After a moment, she broke free of the embrace, and began to drive.

It was a terrible feeling, holding the life of someone you cared dearly about in your hands while in a situation as dangerous as this one, Miranda reflected as she began to drive. The mixture of determination and fear for their safety were not ones that aided a person's judgement in any situation, and had been the very same reason why she had avoided relationships in the past. Even Jacob's death had felt more personal than she would have liked to admit, even though the brief tryst the two of them had had had been years ago. The icy demeanour she'd adopted to life had helped scare people away, she found, stopped her getting compromisingly attached before she could even start, meaning that she could get things done without any mistakes.

The road was still in good condition, probably due to the fact that it was not used much, the jeep's tyres gripping onto it easily as she drove forwards. For about a mile or so she made it unnoticed, before the sound of engines whining overhead caught her ear; above them, one of the sleek, dark-hulled Reaper gunships. No chance in relying on stealth now; she pressed the accelerator down hard, rubber screeching on tarmac as the gunship fired.

She glowered in fierce concentration as she wrenched the jeep to the left, avoiding another stream of liquid metal and pure heat as it cut into the road, the stench of treacle filling the air for a moment before she whipped past it at breakneck speed. The jeep bounced as it hit a pothole, and Miranda wrestled with the steering wheel as she attempted to bring it back into line before another beam sliced down next to her.

Wind whipped through her hair as she crested another hill, the vehicle barrelling past a burnt-out stalk tank and the wreckage of a Somme that it had brought down with it. She dodged round a crater as the gunship fired once more, tyre clipping the clip and sending once side of the jeep flying up for a brief moment before it crashed down again, jolting Miranda and Antoinette in their seats.

The ground became rougher, badly scorched and muddied as the spaceport began to near, the dropship still overhead. She pulled off the road suddenly, throwing its aim and weaving between the craters that ruptured the ground. Muddy water sprayed upwards as a tyre clipped a puddle, a shimmering coffee-coloured veil, the jeep bouncing from the dip.

She passed corpses, speeding ahead as the gunship fired once more, before something screamed overhead and smashed it from the sky with a missile, a jet sweeping upwards and back again through the air, passing over them once more.

She crested another hill, the jeep crashing downwards on the damp ground as it sped forwards. Ahead of her were a group of Reaper soldiers, turning to face the vehicle as it thundered towards them before it slammed into their rear, throwing several aside. Shots zipped and pinged against its rear as sped away from them, and she swerved to the left to throw the aim of one of their anti-tank weapon armed troopers. The beam sent a gout of steam skywards as it boiled the water in the ground away, and Miranda smiled grimly as she saw friendly lines getting closer and closer, near enough to pick out individual mass-driver rounds as they sped in both directions.

From nowhere, the ground disappeared, a deep trench appearing under the tyres, and for a brief moment the jeep sailed gently through air before metal crunch and slammed down at a diagonal. Antoinette gave a cry of pain and shock, and Miranda fumbled clumsily with her seatbelt before she pulled her free of the vehicle and dropped down beside her, cursing as her ankle flared with pain. She grabbed her assault rifle from where it had fallen in the mud, holding it in one hand and using the trench to support her. Antoinette was ahead of her, heading for friendly lines through another trench that led towards the spaceport, and Miranda limped after her.

A dark figure, huge and forbidding, dropped between them and Antoinette gave a cry of terror before Miranda opened fire with her rifle, emptying the thermal before crushing it against the mud wall with a blast of biotic power.

"Run!" she called to Antoinette, ejecting the thermal and leaving it to hiss in the mud, slamming one of her remaining two. "Get out of here, now!"

Antoinette nodded mutely and disappeared as another Reaper soldier dropped down behind Miranda. The shots that hit her barriers and armour knocked to the ground, and she gave a scream as her ankle was wrenched out of place once more, bone stabbing into flesh like a blazing spear. Despite red mist of pain at the edge of her vision, she turned and opened fire, her weapon thudding rapidly as the shots wore down her enemy's kinetic barriers. The thermal was enough to break through them, and she hurled it away with a biotic blast despite the exhaustion that was sapping at her body.

Somehow, she hauled herself to her feet, a hiss of pain accompanying every other limping step, blood thundering in her ears. She didn't have time to set the bone again, and instead fought against the pain, gritting her teeth and carrying on the best she possibly could. She managed six paces, agony blazing up before something knocked her to the ground. She rolled over in time to see a weapon pointing at her, and desperately tried to summon up some biotic power to throw her enemy away, but she was simply too tired and distracted by the intense ache in her ankle to summon anything more than a wisp of force.

Someone else, on the other hand, wasn't, a blast of biotic might slamming into the Reaper footsoldier's chest and stumbling it back. There was the sound of a shotgun firing and it was knocked to the ground by a shot that hit it squarely in the head, before three figures stepped over her, weapons scanning for any more danger.

"We're clear," one of them announced, before it asked; "How is she?"

"She's alive," came a reply, and Miranda looked up through blurry eyes to see an Asari kneeling next to her, blue skinned grimy and with bags under her eyes before the alien picked her up and slung Miranda's arm over her shoulder. "Give me a hand with her."

"Antoinette," Miranda slurred, already feeling like she might black out. "Is Antoinette safe?"

"The girl? She's fine," the Asari said while her comrade took Miranda's other arm. "Valmyra, keep us covered."

"On it," the third one said, her rifle in the shoulder.

Helped by the two Asari, Miranda was hauled to the relative safety of the Council lines.


	54. Chapter 53

**Author's Note:** So, in the latest Mass Effect 3 trailer, Shepard kills a Reaper titan by sicing a Thresher Maw on it.

Bioware, in terms of monster vs Reaper action, consider yourselves outdone…

Chapter 53-Redemption

The Batarian fleet and the Charon Relay to find what remained of the Citadel's, the Geth's and Aria's fleets waiting for them, hidden from view by Pluto. The first vessels of the fleet hove into view as the relay lit up, snapping the Batarian vessels through at the speed of light before depositing them on the other side. Hails were sent between the ships as they began to coordinate the fleets and manoeuvre into position, vessels shifting into position for what could well be the final fleet engagement of the war. Malleus had talked to their commanders before coming through, and they knew the plan. All that remained was to execute it.

The blocky, khaki-coloured Batarian ships were the first to move off, a front wave of vessels and the rest followed, engines flaring as they powered up. Scanners hummed into life, searching for any threats, and soon enough the Reapers were found, the giants sensing a potential threat posed by this defiant gathering of force.

They did not have the firepower to face the Reapers in traditional space combat, Malleus knew; that would be akin to trying to kill someone wearing power armour just with bows and arrows. But they had the numbers, just. They could end up being badly mauled by this, even obliterated entirely, but there was no other alternative.

"This is it," he said from the bridge of the Normandy, word relayed to the commanders of the other fleets. "You know the plan. So in the name of the Emperor, full speed ahead!"

As one, massive engines silently roared into life, propelling the ships forwards to face their massive foes. The Reapers seemed to slow their advance as the fleet powered forwards, almost bemused before their massive beam weapons opened fire and ripped ships to pieces. Only a few hundred against nearly four times that number, they were confident in their chances of victory; what, in this hopeless charge, could the Harvest even hope to do them?

The fleet pushed closer and closer, all power to the engines as they tore through the void, captains heedless of the ships that were torn from the vacuum around them. There was no time to pause, no time to hesitate, simply a single chance to defeat the foe before them, no matter the cost.

For a moment, the Reapers seemed hesitant, confused as to why their enemies were still closing instead firing back, sending out crimson death all the same even as the Council, Batarian, Geth and Omegan vessels pushed onwards. Then the two fleets collided, and Malleus played his hand.

Thousands of shuttles holding marines and freebooters emerged, falling from the small ships to the Reaper dreadnoughts, the relatively slow speed of the shuttles negating the kinetic barriers' protection. They touched down on the surfaces of the massive Reapers, magnets in their boots clamping them to their dark metallic hulls.

In the lee of Jupiter, hatches were found, entrances were made, and life struck against death.

#

Kal Reegar had to admit it; these lasrifles were good.

The weapon had a strangely blocky design compared to the more curved makes of the Avengers and Vindicators he was used to using, but already he adored it; he had heard the enemy footsoldiers had shielding powerful enough to resist full magazine from most rifles, but this thing simply cut past those and melted away that onyx armour they wore as well, killing them in just one or two shots. For all intents and purposes, the small group of Migrant Fleet Marines that he was leading had far better shielding than their enemies.

He ducked around a corner, the weapon still held into his shoulder, and opened fire on a group of enemy that were in his way. Lances of blue light snapped from the rifle, ripping through shields and punching bubbling holes through their armour, and the enemy squad before him fell as another two of the Marines under his command joined his fire, shots tearing them down like corn before a scythe.

Beneath his mask, the Quarian smiled grimly, gesturing for the squad to move up, hurrying through the strangely organic looking corridors of dark metal. Ahead, he could pick out the sound of gunfire, and he increased his pace to burst onto a gantry above some kind of shuttle bay. Below, three Kodiak landing shuttles were landed, doors open as a platoon's worth of Batarians battled it out with Reaper troops that were pouring in. Not entrusted with lasweapons, the four-eyed aliens were forced into cover and were struggling to bring down the heavy duty shielding that protected their foes, mass-driver shots pinging uselessly against them.

"Quorro, Karrit, move left and get above those Batarians," Reegar ordered with quick hand gestures. "Derra, Leik, I want you to stay here. The rest of you, with me."

The Quarians had their enemy surrounded, held the higher ground and kinetics were worthless against their weapons, and the killzone they created was utterly lethal, cover nowhere to be found against the enfilade of laser fire. Reegar emptied his magazine, the shots enough to cut down a trio of enemies before he ducked behind cover to slam a fresh las-clip into the weapon. The doorway he was facing slid open and a Reaper soldiers stepped forwards before he flicked the weapon into full-auto and melted its chest away with a few rapid shots. It toppled back as a second one pushed forwards but he dealt with that one with relative ease, las bolts melting its visor and almost evaporating its head.

More of them were pushing forwards through the corridor and he glanced over at Illa and called; "Give me a hand here! We've got enemies trying to flank us!"

"Understood," the Quarian who was next to him on the balcony replied, taking cover by the doorway and sending blue lances down the confines of the corridor, toppling another Reaper.

"Pushing forwards," Reegar said, ducking low. "Cover me."

Illa's shots went over his head as he dashed forwards, lasrifle held low yet still comfortable enough in his shoulder for him to aim. He reached a T-Junction as another of Illa's carefully aimed lances felled a Reaper that had just rounded the corner, glancing round both of them and sending a shock grenade down one, the blast of electricity destroying shields and frying circuitry.

"Derra, Leike, Quorro, Karrit, it's Kal Reegar here," he called into his enviro-suit's radio. "I need you on me, asap! Rest of you, hold position until I give the order to follow."

He leant out to open fire on another pair of enemies that were advancing on them, felling them and emptying the las-cell, and he pressed a third one home. Behind him, he heard boots clattering on the deckplate as the rest of the squad followed him, and they got to cover, laying down suppressing fire on the few enemies that tried to advance on them before Reegar nodded to the rest and took point, pushing forwards.

He managed to gun down another enemy that tried to shelter behind a corner, turning it and opening fire on the group of foes before him. In the tight confines of the sloping corridor there was no cover to be taken from the lasrifle's relentless might, and only a few managed to return shots, the mass-driver rounds deflected by the kinetic barriers that protected him.

He pressed forwards, the other Quarians at his back before he opened a door into a wider corridor of the Reaper. A few enemy soldiers turned to face him and he dropped to a knee, opening fire on them as the rest of his detachment burst through with him, lasrounds spraying across the hallway. To his left, he could see the hangar with the Batarians in, fire against the beleaguered exiles all but non-existent now, and his fireteam fanned into the corridor to plug the main source of reinforcements before they could reach them.

"Hold position," Reegar called to them, before flicking on the radio; "Alright, the rest of you get down here."

He got a round of affirmatives from the rest of his squad, before he hurried towards the Batarians who were already beginning to move forwards now that the imminent threat of being overwhelmed was vanquished.

"Who's in charge here?" he called out, before one of the Batarians nodded to him.

"That's me," the alien replied. "What's the plan? We can't take the enemy as easily in a fight as you Quarians can, seeing as we apparently aren't trustworthy enough to have lasrifles."

"We're moving on the core," Kal Reegar replied. "We'll be the vanguard; your people can cover our backs and give covering fire when we need it. That sound good?"

The Batarian nodded.

"Good," Kal Reegar said. "Then let's kill this thing."

#

The Normandy was like an eagle in flight, silently screaming through the void at full speed, the very tip of the spear that was the fleet it led. Swift and darting, it wove around fire that would have annihilated a slower, less agile ship, while the vessels around it found the Reapers and attacked.

A few hundred kilometres away from it, the Leviathan of Dis powered forwards, it colossal size and sheer mass allowing it to weather the storm of beam fire the Reapers were focussing on it. Burn scars already crisscrossed its thick, scaled hide, while an eye had been scorched away and left as nothing more than a blackened ruin weeping untold gallons of clear puss, but it pushed forwards nonetheless, utterly unstoppable.

The jaws of the Leviathan opened, ivory teeth the size of buildings gleaming for a moment in the glancing light of the sun as it hung in the void, before the monstrous spacecraft's head twisted and they closed around a Reaper. They were crude weapons, but nonetheless effective, the sheer force behind them punching through the dark metal and crushing the sentient spacecraft utterly. It knocked one of the two bisected halves away with its snout, electricity still sparking across the ruined ship, and continued forwards, hunting for yet more prey.

The Normandy swept past that scene, Thannix cannons blazing as they punched several Reaper interceptors from the void, pulling up in a steep turn that was felt even through the artificial gravity on the ship in order to avoid a Reaper spinning past it, speared through the heart by the flaming wreckage of a Batarian cruiser. It dodged over chunks of debris from destroyed Reaper and allied vessels alike, arcing round whilst within, Malleus tried his best to coordinate the battle. It was little help that holographic display before him was confused to the point of being near-indecipherable, friendly and hostile markers becoming one indistinct cloud of red and blue. Occasionally a red marker would wink out as the small armies of boarders that had been unleashed upon them achieved their objectives, aided by the power of their lasrifles, but ships in his fleet were dying by the score every moment.

"EDI," he said from the command pulpit. "Give me a battlefield projection; can we kill the Reapers before they kill us?"

"Calculating," EDI said, before replying; "I do not believe we can, commander. I suggest a change in plan."

Malleus nodded, before saying; "Get me in contact with the Leviathan immediately."

The image before him had a flat panel superimposed upon it, a blur of static that Malleus flicked to one side of the display to allow him to focus on the battle, and the picture of a Batarian.

"Captain," Malleus said to him across the radio. "I need you to do something for me with the Leviathan."

"What is it?" the Batarian asked.

"We need to distract the Reapers not being boarded so our ships can get close," Malleus said. "The Leviathan is the only thing with the durability to provide that distraction."

"What do you need?" the captain asked.

"I need the Leviathan right among them," Malleus said. "I need it to draw their fire."

The alien frowned, and he said; "We'll be killed."

"Your people need to earn their redemption, captain," Malleus replied. "I'm giving you a chance to gain it."

There was a pause, and the Astartes pressed his point; "We are fighting for life itself. Sacrifices need to be made."

There was a pause, before the Batarian nodded.

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

From its place at the edge of the furious combat where it had been picking off Reapers, the Leviathan changed its course, plunging towards the heart of the Reaper fleet like some crude bone knife. The massive organic ship tore forwards, yawning maw closing on a Reaper and shearing through the craft even as beam fire ripped into its hide, drawing great scars across its scales. Bony plates were melted away even as it plunged forwards, slamming into another Reaper, its sheer bulk enough to overpower kinetic barriers with the collision's force. The Leviathan's shields long since overwhelmed, another beam sliced into one of the fins that it used to guide itself through the void, laming the colossal limb.

It twisted in the vacuum, spearing towards the offending Reaper even as one of the dreanought's weapons gouged a furrow into its thick skull. The Leviathan's colossal maw opened in a silent roar of fury, before they closed down upon its hull, colossal teeth tearing through its armour and crushing it beneath the sheer force of the bite. Another Reaper found itself in reach of one of its fins, the colossal limb reaching out and slamming into the craft like one continent hitting another. The force of the impact was enough to completely obliterate its kinetic barriers and sent it spiralling away, and those ships that could fire opened up on it while it was vulnerable, blasting away armour and tearing it apart.

The Leviathan plunged further into the heart of the Reaper fleet, and against so massive a ship and surrounded by an ever tightening cordon of Council, pirate, Batarian and Geth ships, the Reapers were forced to divert resources to deal with the threat. Malleus had them, he knew; they either ignored the Leviathan and let it wreak havoc, or turned their attentions upon it to let the boarding craft advance and attack unmolested.

"Press the assault," he ordered across the radio, knowing that even so, their time was limited to how long the Leviathan could last. "Hold nothing back; no mercy!"

Clouds of shuttles swarmed across the void, more and more of the craft touching down and disgorging troops onto the Reapers. Migrant Fleet Marines blasted airlocks and bulkheads open and stormed forwards, Turians dropships disgorged small companies of what stevedores and marines they had left, the avian aliens moving into the Reaper with as much speed an discipline as they could muster. Bullish Yahg thundered onto the Reapers, Krogan doing the same, while scores of Geth combat platforms were fired from their carrier ships on the sides of the Reapers like strange mass-driver rounds, the synthetics not bothering with the use of shuttles and troopships.

One by one, Reapers began to drift, nothing more than massive hulks that lay empty and dead as the cores that powered them were destroyed by explosives, even as thousands perished and yet more friendly vessels were blasted from the void. And finally, the Leviathan died.

Its one remaining eye had been struck blind by the beam weapons of the Reapers, another of its colossal limbs lamed. Thousands of scars and wounds had been ripped into its hide, even as it thrashed and roared, its great limbs and jaws smashing Reapers to pieces. One of the engines that propelled it had been shot out, but it continued nonetheless, plunging forwards into the densest concentration of Reapers. It twisted its jaw, a thrashing blow that slammed into a Reaper and smashed it away with an impact that left a colossal dent in its side, more shots from the its fellows gouging chunks of flesh away even as more shuttle craft began to land on the dreadnoughts'hulls, boarders surging forwards in a desperate effort to bring an end to their hated foes.

Another Reaper was swatted away by a limb, while a great hunk of meat was gouged out of its side by precisely coordinated beam fire, a colossal heart revealed underneath ribs the size of skyscrapers. More shots speared towards it, even as the Leviathan writhed in the void, throwing its bulk into a Reaper and smashing it aside.

Its jaws opened in a silent roar of agony as the merciless aim of its billion-year enemies hit its heart and killed it, convulsing in cataclysmic death throes that sent earthquake-scale shuddering through the ship, throwing the crew against the walls of its corridors and rooms.

It finally died, a massive hulk of organic wreckage that drifted aimlessly in the void, cyclopean limbs splayed out helplessly. The threat finally abated, the Reapers turned back to the allied fleet they were facing, but it was too late; what remained had got too close for the Reapers to bring their fearsome guns to bear, and more and more boarding forces pushed forwards, desperately attacking the giant vessels in the knowledge that this could well be their only chance to beat them.

"They're breaking engagement," someone suddenly announced across the comm. network. "They're pulling out!"

Barely a score of Reaper vessels remained from the original fleet that had faced them, powering away even as the multitude of boarder-stricken brethren tried to stay and hopelessly fight. The fleeing Reapers sent beam fire at any ship that dared get close, striking them from the void as they tried to pursue.

"Shall we follow?" came a hail from the Knife Edge, the pirates on board no doubt eager for more action.

"Negative," Malleus replied. "We don't have the numbers to weather the approach once more. Make for the Charon Relay and guard it with every ship we have left; let nothing through. I'll take the Normandy and escort the lasrifle shipments to Terra."

"Understood," came the acknowledgement. "We'll keep it locked down tight."

"The Emperor protects," Malleus replied. "Malleus out."

He looked at the battlemap before him, observing the markers for the fleeing Reapers and the badly mauled fleet that were beginning to retreat back into the orbit of Pluto. Somehow, despite the fact that the Council fleet and its allies had been reduced to a mere one hundred and fifty ships, they had managed to force the Reapers into flight, something once thought impossible.

Now all that remained to be done was to finish the scum off entirely.


	55. Chapter 54

Chapter 54-Faith's Fury

It was finally complete. The barrel was large enough for Tali to stand up straight in, as long as an express train carriage and a weighed about the same as a squadron of Colossi and its triangular tip was the size of a Somme MBT. Yet it had taken only three days for the swarm of Geth repair drones to construct it from the schematic that Kullas had provided.

The Forge Priest was probably going to suffer an aneurism when he heard that the synthetics that he so vehemently despised had access to blueprints of the most powerful weapon in the galaxy, but Tali knew that the only way to get it built swiftly was to hand it over to them. The massive shuttle maintenance crane held it in place in the stump where Yamzarat Machtoro's railgun had once been while a small swarm of repair drones flitted around it and fixed it in place.

"It's coming online now," Andrew said. "Checking power feeds now; all of them seem to be good. Hold on, slight fluctuation in one of them; I'll get a drone to align it properly now."

Tali nodded at that. In the last few days she'd barely spoken to him, and the few times that they had been in each other's company had been excruciatingly awkward.

"Targeting systems are linking in with it now," Yukio announced. "Aiming calibrations are complete, we're good to go."

"Let's test fire it, then," Tali said, while outside the God Machine the crane swung away from them. She resisted the urge to sniff and try and clear the blocked nose that had been hanging around malignantly.

Yamzarat Machtoro stepped free of the hangar, walking across the asphalt plain that was the Beijing Spaceport, each footfall leaving massive prints in the ground. Clear of the hangar, with the war-torn city behind him, Yamzarat Machtoro found his target in a hillside.

"Alright, taking aim," Yukio announced. "Diverting power from locomotion feeds."

She pressed a few buttons her console before she looked over at Tali and grinned; "We're ready to fire."

"Yamzarat Machtoro," Tali said. "Give that hillside hell."

In reply, a beam of searing light screamed from the weapon's cyclopean barrel, hitting the side of the hill square on. Earth and stone beneath the impact evaporated, the scrubby grass around the shot caught flame, and a great blackened crater nearly ten metres across and far deeper was gouged into the side. The earth had taken a glassy sheen, and it seemed they had cut a perfectly shaped bore-hole into the side of the hill.

There was a long, hushed silence in the cockpit as the crew stared at the destruction they had wrought in awe, before there was a deep, rhythmic rumbling. After a moment, they realised Yamzarat Machtoro was laughing.

"The Almarach Ikmrin," he said after a moment, his deep voice warm with satisfaction and anticipation. "Are going to weep with terror when this is unleashed upon them."

#

The shuttle was waiting for them in the Normandy's hangar, doors open in preparation for what should be the final time for it to convey them to war. Kullas, Samara, Ashley and Malleus stepped free of the lift towards as its doors opened, the parchment purity seals on the armour of the Forge Priest and Brother Captain fluttering as they walked. A small number of the crew were waiting for them as the Normandy hung in orbit, coming to wish them luck on their return.

For a few moment, Malleus paused, shaking the hand that Kenneth offered him, nodding to Mess Sergeant Gardner. Kelly stopped him for a moment as Samara exchanged a few words with Gabby about some subject, and said; "Commander, before you go, I need to talk to you quickly."

"What is it?" Malleus asked.

"It's about Samara," she said, nodding to the Justicar.

Malleus glanced over at the Asari, before he asked; "Is she a risk or something similar?"

"No, not at all," Kelly said.

"Then it can wait until the war is won, Yeoman," Malleus replied. "I have more pressing issues to think of."

Kelly nodded uncertainly, before she simply said; "Good luck down there then, Malleus."

"Thank you," Malleus said. "I shall see you again once the galaxy is finally safe."

The Yeoman smiled at him for this, before Malleus called to the others; "Come, we need to depart."

They stepped aboard the shuttle, its door sliding shut over them, and it began to gently rise, the crew watching them go as it pulled out of the Normandy's hangar and into empty space. Around him, he could see small flocks of other shuttles doing the same from the small fleet that hung in orbit above Earth, the final wave of reinforcements from the Batarians and Quarians as well as a few Yahg, and the drop-carriers bringing their precious cargoes of the consummately lethal weapons to the surface. He stared up at the Normandy as the shuttle descended, and realised then that it was, without a doubt, the finest ship he'd ever had the honour of commanding; even though Faith's Fury was a strike cruiser, an eight-kilometre behemoth and one of the deadliest ships in the Imperium's fleet, easily twenty times the size of the SR-2, in the short time he had commanded that small, doughty vessel he'd grown immensely fond of it.

"Haven't we won this already?" Ashley asked suddenly. "We had the Reapers on the run, after all."

"Not quite," Malleus said, shaking his head as he turned his attention to the SPECTRE he had taken under his command. "The war is balanced on the edge of a knife; Reapers still have the potential to destroy our fleet and the forces here on Terra if we are not careful. After that, anything that can oppose them effectively will have been annihilated; they will return to the Citadel, shut down the relays and cut off every planet from each other with year-long journeys to get from one system to another. From there, they can wipe out worlds at will and rebuild their numbers at the same time."

Ashley shook her head.

"And here I go rushing to save all galactic civilisation once again," she said with a wry smile. "You'd almost think I'd be getting bored of this stuff."

The view from the window began to glow a cherry red as the Kodiak gently fell through the atmosphere, and Malleus nodded.

"Agreed," he said. "I'm beginning to wonder what on earth I'll find to fill the time after all of this."

"So why are all our forces concentrated on Earth?" Samara asked suddenly.

"It's a challenge," Malleus said. "A threat. We're defying these Reapers and they are too proud to let it go unanswered. And luckily for us, we lure them into range of the weapons we have that can kill the abominations."

"With faith in the Omnissah and the Emperor, we will prevail," Kullas grated suddenly, one of the pincers of his servo harness slamming shut as if to emphasise his point.

"Those superweapons are going to help, though," Ashley added.

Malleus smiled at this quietly, as London's scorched and battered came into view, damaged and ruined buildings new and old coming into view. Bizarrely, despite the fact that it was as vulnerable a target as they came, the large Faehrris Wheel by the Thames, the Oculus Londinium as Cyralius had referred to it in Gothic, was still intact. It was an odd thing, Malleus reflected; they were popular forms of entertainment in the Imperium, and it was strange to think that small things such as it had managed to last the span of forty millennia.

The shuttle's course was set for the square outside the nation's old Parliamentary centre, the clock tower by its side a burnt-out and gutted ruin, and he could see a small delegation of his impromptu alliance's generals waiting to greet them. He ran a hand over his chin, autosenses of his armour feeling the fuzz of stubble, and muttered; "I should have shaved before I left."

"Some women find a little stubble attractive, you know," Samara replied.

"I somehow doubt that's ever going to be a concern for me," Malleus remarked with a shrug as the shuttle touched down.

The door opened gently, and Malleus stepped free, followed by the others. General Suvat was waiting for them, along with Mehriss, the Asari commander and Urdnot Wrex, the burly Krogan's already scarred visage augmented by a few more wounds. The other two looked equally worse for wear; there were dark shadows under the Asari general's eyes, and Suvat's quills were slack and low.

"Generals," Malleus said in way of greeting as he headed across the scrubby grass towards them, past a fallen statue of a balding man in a greatcoat. "We have much to plan."

Suvat nodded, before he added; "It's good to see you back, Malleus."

"It's good to be back," Malleus replied. "Kullas, I'm assuming you want to examine this anti-orbital gun our forces captured?"

"Indeed," Kullas said. "I may be able to assist in the construction of our own model."

Malleus nodded, and he said; "Samara, Ashley, you can go wherever you think you are needed."

He turned to face the assembly of generals before him and said; "Now, let's work out how we're going to win this war."

#

The ankle had been bandaged and set in plaster, held in place by a brace that would allow no movement, and for all intents and purposes, the war was over for Miranda. And yet despite that, she was staying put. Instead, she moved through the field hospital in the London Underground station on a pair of crutches, moving up the stairs with meticulous care. People nodded to her as she passed, and judging by the few murmured stories she had heard her arrival with a rescued child and a snapped ankle was already becoming legendary.

Antoinette was by her side, and the two reached the top of the stairs into the battered warzone that was London. Soldiers of all species were milling around outside, setting up sandbagged positions at the end of the battered street, while a Mako rumbled past them. She sat down for a moment on a chunk of fallen concrete, and Antionette sat next to her for a moment before she said; "Miri?"

"Yes, Antoinette?" Miranda asked.

"Thank you," Antoinette said. "I remember I forgot to say thank you for helping me."

"It's fine," Miranda said, placing her hand on Antoinette's. "I'm just glad you're safe."

Antoinette grabbed her waist in a hug, and Miranda smiled as she embraced the girl she had unofficially adopted, kissing her gently on the top of her head. She could still remember the message she had received from the clinic just over a year ago, informing her in professional, dispassionate tones that she would never be able to have children. The Ilium Medical Centre had been unable to identify the cause of the neoplasm that had rendered her infertile, but she knew all too well. Reading that, knowing that despite everything her father had still struck one final, spiteful blow against her, had hurt a lot more than she would have liked to admit; she had felt like she had been punched by a Krogan.

"Are you going to fight in the war, now?" Antoinette suddenly asked, not breaking their embrace.

"Not with my ankle like this, no," Miranda said, shaking her head. "I'll help where I can, but I won't be on the front."

"Good," Antoinette said. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't," she said. "I promise."

Suddenly, despite the looming threat of extinction, Miranda had never felt happier in her life.

#

The engineers working on it had taken no risks in their deconstruction of the Reapers' great anti-orbital cannon. It was kept under strict quarantine, nobody except authorised personnel allowed within the cordon set and five different teams working on it, rotated on shifts and checked upon by several medical personnel in order to look for any signs of indoctrination. All they were doing was taken it apart and copying down the schematics for the designs of the weapon, and by the time Kullas had arrived on the scene they were already putting together a prototype.

He aided where he could, chattering litanies as he started to build the firing chamber that would house the mercury ammunition the anti-orbital would fire, but he was out of his element; Mass Driver technology was still new to him, and he knew that Tali's skills would be better suited to such work than his. Nonetheless, he persevered, making refinements to the designs and helping construct the massive cannon.

It was a fearsome thing, the twin prongs that served as the barrel jutting upwards into the sky from a rounded dome, placed on top of a boxy prefab building which housed the Mass Effect generators which powered it. Four anti-aircraft cannons were placed on outbuildings from each corner, connected to the main structure by walkways, and trenches, foxholes and emplacements were being put up around it. Its purpose fulfilled, the Reaper made cannon was destroyed, while the one put together by the allied forces was prepared for use. Kullas was to be firing it, aiming it from a command chain at the bottom of the dome.

The door to the main control centre slid open as he was running a diagnostic check on the aiming systems, and Malleus and Titus entered. Both of them looked impressed, and Titus nodded to the Forge Priest as Kullas stood.

"So you're going to be aiming this, then?" the banner bearer asked.

"Indeed I am," Kullas replied with a nod. "I believe that it will be powerful enough to serve our purpose."

Malleus nodded.

"Just in case, I have Yamzarat Machtoro moving to London to provide extra support," he said. "The Lance Cannon you provided him with would probably be useful against the Reapers in the battle to come, and I'd rather have a third weapon capable of standing up to those creatures along with this and the thunderhawk."

Kullas frowned, before he said; "What of the Geth? Will they not need support against the Reapers?"

"They managed to capture several guns of their own," Malleus replied. "And since they don't have to worry about indoctrination, Yamzarat Machtoro is an asset they are able to send to us."

"Besides, you'll get to see Tali again," Titus added.

"I'm hardly happy about fighting alongside that abomination, but I suppose it is for the greater good," Kullas said. "And you're correct, Brother, I would not mind seeing Apprentice-Adept Zorah again."

"So long as you don't fire upon him then you can think what you wish and I'll be happy," Malleus said. "I'm hoping this weapon will be ready soon, though."

"The crew who are working on it are running their final checks now," Kullas replied. "And Legion has insisted on joining them, I suspect for the purpose of spying on us, though I don't think the others will tolerate me ejecting it from this weapon's premises on mere suspicion."

"So it's complete at least," Titus said. "Good."

"For all intents and purposes, yes," Kullas said. "All that remains is to give it a name."

There was some debate, before they arrived on the title of Faith's Fury.

It felt…right.

#

He found Jack eating in a temporary mess set up by Alliance. The young biotic was wolfing down a meal at a table of her own, nobody seeming to want sit near her, and Cyralius instead sat gently down on the bench opposite her, partially compensating for his weight with the servos in his armour to stop it collapsing under him. He had a meal of his own in hand, his appetite having increased with the extra demands of his newfound abilities alongside those of his superhuman physique. The soldiers gathered around the area were mostly human with a smattering of Asari, the Turians and Quarians eating in their own messes due to their biology and the old feud between the Batarians and humanity still too bitter for the two species to even consider eating together. A lot of them stared at the Epistolary, but he paid them little heed, moving with the quiet confidence of one who could destroy starships with but a thought.

"Hey Cyril," she managed, mouth half-full, chewing voraciously before biting down on another waiting forkful. Cyralius watched for a moment in bemusement, before he said; "Your table manners are terrible, you know."

Jack just shrugged.

"I'm hungry," she replied defensively. "Anyway, we've got this big battle coming, figured I should get my energy levels up a bit. Y'know, get prepared. Anyway, hod you find me?"

"I just asked a few soldiers pointed me in the direction of 'that crazy biotic with the tats'," Cyralius replied with a slightly playful smile.

"I'm a celebrity now?" Jack asked.

"Well, you're fairly noticeable even at the best of times around here," Cyralius replied. "Besides, you're with us; in case you haven't noticed pretty much everyone on the team is rather famous."

Jack shrugged.

"Heard about what the cheerleader did with that kid," she said. "Apparently that's going round pretty fast. Not to mention the rest of those Kasrkin guys are getting a good rep now."

She sneered, before adding; "Bet they wouldn't if everyone knew that these people worked for Cerberus."

Cyralius nodded, a look of slight concern on his face, and she said; "Don't worry, I won't start spreading it around; as much as I hat the guys they're pretty useful in a fight. That Rathskeller guy who's in charge of them now cheerleader got her ankle busted has got a bigger stick up his ass than Garrus, but he's still pretty good at what he does; not to mention there's some guy called Kai Leng in charge of one of the squads who's a serious badass."

She shrugged, before she said; "Anyway, how you holding up after, y'know."

"I'm getting better," Cyralius replied. "I'm still recuperating my strength after that incident, but I'm nearly back to full, thank the Emperor."

"Good," Jack said with a slight smile. She let her fork hang over her plate for a moment, before she quietly added; "You scared me back there, Cyril."

Cyralius shook his head.

"I'm sorry I did," he said. "But we needed to deal those Reapers and there was nothing else that could be done."

"I know," she said. "If you hadn't done it then we all would've got our asses kicked, but I was just scared I was gonna lose you, that's all. And don't be sorry; you had to, and sticking your neck out like that for everyone…I would've said it was stupid once, but I guess you were kind of brave, Cyril."

She smiled at him, and added; "I'm proud of you, y'know? I mean, I didn't want you to die, but you being brave enough to do that stuff? That takes balls, a lot of them. Just, please Cyril, don't do it again."

"You have my word," Cyralius said.

"Good," she said. "And y'know what, Cyril? If you ask me, it isn't that Kai Leng guy, it isn't Garrus, it isn't even Malleus, it's [i]you[/i] who's the biggest badass in this galaxy."

Cyralius just smiled.

#

"Apprentice Adept," Kullas said warmly as Tali stepped off the shuttle on the impromptu grassy landing strip that Hyde Park had been transformed into. "It is good to see you once more."

"Hello Kullas," she said in reply, smiling beneath her mask. "It's good to see you to."

Their brief conversation was cut short by a defeaning roar as the VTOL engines bearing the massive freighter above them aloft cycled up to full power in order to land. Wind whipped up around them, sending the purity seals on Kullas' armour and the sashes Tali wore fluttering madly as it touched down, while leaves were plucked from the park's few remaining trees, The localised hurricane gradually subsided as the engines' furious spinning slowed, the spray that it had whipped up on the nearby lake dying down and the cloth over Tali's envirosuit no longer flapping wildly.

"That's why we stayed in the shuttle, chief," Yukio said with a slight smile as she stepped out of the small landing craft that held Yamzarat Machtoro's crew. "Keep out of the wind."

Tali shrugged, and replied; "I was just saying hello to Kullas."

Yukio's eyes widened as she noticed Kullas for the first time, the colossal Forge Priest in turn regarding her with own bionic one, and he nodded his head towards her. "Greetings. You are Yamzarat Machtoro's gunnery chief, I presume; Tali mentioned you."

"You did?" Yukio asked, still seeming to be slightly awed by Kullas' presence. "Oh, er, hi, then."

The rest of the crew pressed out of the shuttle, most of them hesitating as they saw Kullas, and Tali heard one of the mutters something awestruck about that really being one of the Astartes.

"This is my crew," Tali said to Kullas, gesturing towards them. "You've met Kaede, that's Gunnery-Master Parker, Macjec runs the scanners, and you've already met Andrew."

"Ah yes, the engineer with the poor taste in music," Kullas said, recalling the incident in the garage before neither human nor Quarian had been assigned to Yamzarat Machtoro.

Conversation was halted by a deep rumbling noise, and a pair of great blast doors on the side of the freight craft that had been carrying Yamzarat Machtoro slowly began to grind open. Sunlight streamed into the craft from the gap, revealing the white armour that made up his barrel chest, and after a short while they were fully open. He stepped free, his colossal three-toed feet sinking deep into the soil, small puddles of displaced water forming around them.

"So this is London," he said, surveying the battered and wartorn city before him. "I cannot say I am impressed, Little Quarian, but I suspect that is because this place has suffered the visitations of the Almarach Ikmrin."

Tali nodded, knowing that the gesture would be caught on the cameras on the God Machine's ankles that allowed him to get a full view of the battlefield, and said; "I think that tourism is going to take a hit after this is over."

Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled his agreement, and said; "Indeed. Nonetheless, it shall be a fitting staging ground for what is to come. I'm looking forward to this battle."

Tali wasn't surprised to hear that. Yamzarat Machtoro had been waiting for nearly four million years to get his vengeance upon the Reapers, and she knew just how much he despised them better than anyone. And tomorrow, it seemed, he was finally going to get a chance at seeing it come about.

Provided they won.

**Author's note:** One more chapter, then shit gets real.


	56. Chapter 55

**Author's Note:** This segment of the chapter went on way, way longer than expected, so it's now occupying its own chapter. A couple of other parts that were originally intended for this one have been added onto Chapter 54 (just after 'It felt right') to avoid this one become overly long, so you can skip back to them if you feel so inclined.

Chapter 55-Confession

Overnight, London had turned into a fortress.

There were ammunition dumps on every corner, while killzones and firing fields had been created by the demolition of key buildings by engineers of all species. Fields of rubble concealed mines and IEDs, while snipers now armed with longlases found firing positions and prepared for the coming storm. The few armoured vehicles that remained were dug in, forming strongpoints, while the open spaces in the centre of the city, the historic St James' and Hyde Parks, had become landing zones for their VTOL gunships and jets.

"This is where we'll be concentrating the majority of our anti-aircraft capability," Malleus said to Titus, pointing out where Faith's Fury and Yamzarat Machtoro would be hunkered down on the holographic map of the city the were standing around. "We're having the Krogan there; they're they least likely to give ground, and we can't let Faith's Fury be under risk from an infantry attack. Yamzarat Machtoro will be more mobile, and he'll be providing the main means with which to eliminate any enemy god machines that emerge."

"I take it you want me there then, Malleus," Titus said, to which the Brother Captain nodded.

"I nee someone who can boost resolve and provide close-quarters support," he said. "You can do both of those things, considering your role."

"You're right about that, Brother Captain," Titus said. "I'll hold the line and carry the colours of the Sixth with pride, you have my word."

"I don't need it," Malleus said with a smile. "Though the colours of themselves hare looking somewhat worse for wear at the moment, I believe."

Titus nodded in agreement; over the past few weeks, they had been shredded, scorched and punctured by the combat they had been carried in, and all that remained were a few rags of adamantium fibre.

"Speak to Kullas about it," Malleus added. "I mentioned the problem and he said he had thought of a solution."

"I'll be sure to do so, then," Titus said.

Behind them, the door to the prefabricated command bunker they were occupying slid open, and the two Astartes glanced over to see Samara standing just outside.

"Justicar," Malleus said. "What can I do for you?"

"Malleus, Titus," Samara greeted. "Malleus, I hoping I may be able to have a word with you for a few moments."

"Speak freely, Samara," Malleus said, while Titus acknowledged her presence with a nod.

"In private," she said. "No offence to Titus, but this concerns somewhat of…a personal matter."

The banner bearer glanced at Malleus curiously for a moment, before the brother-captain nodded to him, and he stepped out of the room with a farewell of; "I'll go and speak to Kullas, then."

"What is this about, Samara?" Malleus asked as Titus left.

"Malleus, I have a question," Samara said as she entered. "Do you think we can honestly win this?"

"We have my brothers, millions of soldiers, ships and a Titan on our side," Malleus said. "I believe we can; if I didn't I would have taken the Normandy on a suicide run on a Reaper and died with some honour when this war began." 

Samara smiled quietly at this.

"You've never once wavered in that belief, have you, Malleus?" she said.

"Not once," Malleus said. "I seem to have become the commander of this army, have I not? If I'm uncertain about victory then Emperor help my lieutenants."

"I see," Samara said. "But what I want it know about is after this war, once the Reapers are defeated."

"You'll no longer be bound by that oath you made to me upon Ilium, will you?" Malleus said. "You mentioned you wished to go to Omega, to help the people there, did you not?"

"I did, yes," Samara nodded. "But recently, I might have changed my mind. I think I may leave the order, settle down somewhere, Thessia or the Citadel, perhaps. Perhaps become a matriarch, help lead my people."

"The Justicars allow members to leave?" Malleus asked, a note of incredulity on his voice. "It struck me as the sort of organisation that would make you stay for life."

"If we perform some particularly worthy deed, we can choose to retire," Samara said. "And I daresay that defending the entire galaxy against a threat such as the Reapers would most likely qualify."

"Good," Malleus said. "Keep that idea then, it is a good one. An old one, I suppose, the warrior fighting one last battle so they might finally live in peace."

"What about you, Malleus?" Samara asked. "What will you do?"

"Me? That's a good question," Malleus said. "No doubt the people will want me to help them once this war is over. There will be much to rebuild, after all; the Citadel, Earth, both are ruined. They'll need someone to sort that mess out, and I have a feeling they'll want that someone to be me."

He frowned slight, and said; "You know, I had barely given the matter any thought whatsoever."

Samara nodded.

"Perhaps, Malleus," she said.

"Was all you wished to talk of the future?" Malleus asked suddenly. "I have a battle to plan, if it's all the same to you."

"Malleus, I have been thinking ahead of this battle," Samara said. "Of my future, and I just wanted to say something to you, in case…in case I don't make it."

"What, Samara?" Malleus asked.

Instead of replying, Samara stepped away towards the window. She was silent as she looked upon the war-torn cityscape of London, and Malleus stepped up next to her.

"Malleus," she said. "After all this is over, if we both survive, I want us to…"

She trailed off for a moment, before shaking her head and saying; "I want us to be together. You and I, us, perhaps helping lead our peoples, helping them rebuild, but I still want us to be together. You're unlike anyone I've ever met before, Malleus, and I think I could find more than just happiness with you." 

The words hit Malleus like a thunderbolt, and for a moment the superhuman was silent. Part of him was stunned, sent reeling by what she had just said. Impossible, blasphemous, heretical. Yet here it was, straight from the mouth of a xenos, and he knew that she spoke only the truth.

For a long moment, he was silent, before he said, at flat and neutral as he could; "I see. You're certain of this, aren't you?"

"I am," she replied. "Malleus, I have been in love before, I know what it feels like. I know how I feel."

Once again, a long silence as Malleus struggled to pick his words.

"Malleus?"

"This cannot be," he said. His gaze was dead ahead; he could not know what he would do if he looked at her directly. "_It. Cannot. Be._"

"Why not?"

"Samara, I…" he cut himself short. "Samara, I am going to entrust something to you that only my brothers know. These words cannot leave this room, however disturbing you may find them; if people found out the truth about me then they would most likely turn against me in a moment and as a result this entire war may be lost."

The Justicar merely glanced at him, curiosity writ upon her features.

"What truth is that?"

"I hate you."

"What?"

"You and every alien. I hate you. All of you. Part of me desires every one of you dead." 

Samara stepped away from him, a look of sudden fear in her eyes. Malleus shook his head, before saying; "Don't worry, I'm not going to strangle you or strike you now. If I'd given in to this urge I imagine you would be dead long ago."

"Then what are you saying?"

"We're conditioned, as you know, to know no fear," Malleus said. "But we're also made to hate the alien, despise them with every fibre of our being."

"This isn't your Imperium, though," Samara said. "We aren't your enemies."

"I know," Malleus said. "If I were able to look at this completely rationally, I would have no problem. But I can't; it is a part of me, Samara, and it will not go. It is engraved into my very psyche, etched upon my soul, and even though I can tell myself, from a rational viewpoint, the Citadel and the rest of the galaxy do not wish to see humankind exterminated, part of me still wishes to kill them all." 

"I…I don't know what to say, Malleus."

"Then say nothing." 

"Malleus, please, don't do this to me."

"Do what?"

"You go silent on anything like this, Malleus," Samara said. "Do you remember on the Normandy, when we talked about Gaius and Morinth? You didn't want to talk then, did you? What do you fear from that?"

"What do you think, Samara? What do you think would happen if the galaxy found out about this? They would turn on me in a heartbeat, and then what would I do? Humanity needs a saviour and I seem to be the only individual capable to leading the force to fight the Reapers. I feel I'm being torn apart by this place; I have to fight something ingrained into the very core of my being so that I can execute my duty, I wear some mask of Malleus the honourable knight in power armour when that simply is not true."

"You have…"

"I am no knight of Feudal Terra!" Malleus suddenly snapped. "I am Astartes, and I am bound by duty to show no mercy to xenos, traitors or heretics of any ilk. We all are."

"The others don't seem to all look at that that way," Samara replied. "Look at Titus and Grunt, or Kullas and Tali. Alien and Astartes together, not opposed to one another."

"I am neither Kullas nor Titus," Malleus replied. "Titus has always been a more flexible thinker than I, and Kullas was more concerned with the Mechanicus than anything else."

"Malleus, you and I both know that it doesn't have to be like that," Samara said. "You are free of your Imperium here, it…"

"Free of the Imperium? _Free_ of it? Has the Imperium ever imposed an unwilling bondage upon me? I think not. I do not want to be in this place, Samara, I do not want have to wear a mask and live a lie, I do not want to worry about the ridiculous liberalism of your people, I do not want to concern myself with whether people becoming unhappy about this war and starting to protest it and I especially do not want to have to watch my every step in case I offend someone with someone important with some misplaced words. In the Imperium things were simple, and here…here it is just too much."

He sagged slightly, breathing slower now.

"I want to go home," he said eventually. "I want to get away from here, back to the Imperium. Back to Polyphemus. Is that really too much to ask? To get away from this damnable, blasphemous place and go home?"

"Then why do you fight?"

"What?"

"I said, why do you fight? If we're really so blasphemous, wouldn't it be better for you to simply leave us for the Reapers?" There was a slightly angry edge to Samara's voice. "What's stopping you from simply letting us all die, Malleus?"

"Because the Reapers are a far worse a blasphemy-"

"They are xenos. I am a xenos. What is the difference between us? They may be mechanical, and I of flesh and blood, but what else is there?"

"The xenos issue isn't the only thing at stake," Malleus said. "I am still bound by duty to guard humanity."

"And you also said you were conditioned to hate heretics," Samara said. "And let me guess; heretics include people who consort with aliens. So that's all the human beings in this galaxy, even the ones like Cerberus. So why are you fighting for us?"

There was a long silence as Malleus marshalled his thoughts, before he said; "Spite. That is why I fight. If there is one thing worse than human heresy it is xenos victory, for a heretic can be bought to understand the Emperor's light and be granted absolution in His holy fire. At least, I think so. This place is a nightmare for any Imperial who doesn't simply take the view that we should simply burn you all and take it for the Emperor. And part of me desperately wishes that this were so very simple."

"So that is your plan?" Samara asked. "To defeat the Reapers, kill all xenos in this galaxy and then turn upon humanity for heresy."

"I never said it was a good plan," Malleus said. "But it is the only plan I can come up with that reconciles my faith with my duty to humanity and to the Emperor."

"Faith drives you to this. Your god's doctrines and dogmas order you to do this, so you obey. I see."

"And you would disobey?" Malleus asked. "You're a religious woman, Samara; you pray to your Goddess for guidance daily. You of all people should understand, surely?"

"The Goddess never asked me to commit genocide," Samara shot back. "She never asked me to slaughter the innocent."

"And if she did?"

"Then I would refuse. Such a thing would be immoral. It would be monstrous."

"Immoral? Morality flow from the commands of our gods," Malleus said. "Most of your galaxy's morality comes from your Goddess, or your Spirits or the gods like the ones the Cruxians and their like have. What they declare is moral becomes moral, so if the Emperor declares that the right thing for me to do is to purge this galaxy of the heretic and the xenos then it is the right thing to do."

"And what do you think? Do you think that is the right thing? Do you really?"

"I…I do not know. God Emperor have mercy upon my benighted soul, but I've seen too much here to know anything for certain. I've seen xenos risk their lives in acts of bravery for humans, for no personal gain, something that the preachers of the Imperium say is impossible. I see heretics and blasphemers do things that only the most daring of Imperial heroes do, and I doubt. But I must obey. To do anything else is heresy and I have already slipped far enough; my grip is too tenuous as it is."

Samara shook her head, eyes closing slightly.

"You are a coward, Malleus Scandarum," she said, an edge of steel in her voice. "You are going to enact genocide upon a galaxy not because you wish to but only because your mad tyrant of a god demands you do so."

"Do not blaspheme against His name," Malleus replied, his tone utterly flat, eyes no longer looking quite at her.

"And why not? What are you afraid of? Some hell, some place you will be sent to burn for because you dared defy him in order to do the right thing? You would rather commit atrocities for the sake of your own selfish faith? How many times have you done something like this, Malleus? You've told me about your Imperium, so tell me how many times have you committed monstrous acts simply because you were too afraid to do the right thing? _How many times_?"

Malleus was silent, face as unmoving and still as iron. He was breathing slowly, shoulders gently rising and falling, and it seemed to Samara as if he had suddenly gone on the retreat, fallen back into some inner sanctum. If she were to have any chance of reaching him, she would need to breach its walls.

"How many times, Malleus?" she asked once more.

He began to mutter, some prayer in his guttural tongue, before he raised a fist. It was slow, deliberate, but there was no mistaking the look of immense ire upon his face. Despite herself, Samara stepped back.

It crashed outwards, the bionic smashing into the wall next to him and punching through the metal. There was a long silence, Malleus breathing short, sharp breaths as he fought to take control.

"You have no idea," he said slowly, voice almost a whisper. "You have no idea what we face, Samara; the Reapers are nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to all of them. Your galaxy's pathetic morals and dogmas would see you die in a matter of days. The Imperium and the Emperor are right because they are the only thing that would stop trillions, no, quadrillions of innocents dying. I commit atrocities in his name, ignore my own views on what I find distasteful so that others can live in safety. I sacrifice my own humanity so that others may be human. I may give and follow orders more shocking than this galaxy can ever conceive, I may kill and slaughter millions, but I have to because if I did not then things would be so, so much worse. It may take a brave man to stand up against the majority for what he believes is right, but it takes an even braver man to give up to what he believes is good to halt the suffering of others. Call me a coward, call me a monster, but do not doubt that whatever I do, I do it for all the right reasons. And before you begin any of the usual diatribes about ends and means, spare me. There is too much at stake for such things."

For a long while, another silence reigned, before Malleus said; "You do not believe me, do you?"

"There can be no justification for wiping out an entire species simply because of what they are," Samara said. "And I don't believe that there is any universe that could produce a religion as horrific as yours."

"Then look inside my mind," Malleus said. "Seeing as I cannot tell you, let me show you."

"You want me to meld with you?" 

"I do. Perhaps that might open your eyes."

Samara nodded, before looking into his eyes.

"Open your mind, then," she said.

The Justicar closed her eyes for a moment, and when they opened they had changed, orbs of jet with a single faint white ring at their centre.

"Embrace eternity!" she called, and then Samara looked upon the mind of Malleus Scandarum. A wall of adamantium willpower blocked her way, seemingly impenetrable and for a moment she thought that she would have to cut the melding short before it even began before Malleus simply moved it aside for her and she let their minds intertwine.

She saw their fight to Earth and the wave of suicidal boarding actions that Aria and Malleus had conducted to try and even the odds against the Reapers. Kullas' destruction of the Reaper's siege fleet and the boarding of the Leviathan and the desperate battle with the Reapers' assassination machine; there a barely remembered fug of agony and exhaustion, a pain that roared through every vein, and despite this a determination not to see the Justicar lost.

Their arrival at the Citadel, the meeting with Yuri Rasenkov, their landing on Terra. She looked further back, past the tide of memories, to the discovery of Yamzarat Machtoro, Malleus' hunt for Morinth, the death of the Reaper Larva, the swell of anguish and rage at the discovery of Gaius' fate. Even further back to the derelict Reaper, then to Ilium, seeing their first meeting through the Brother Captain's eyes, his contempt for the alien city before them, him seeing the Illusive Man to gain command of the Normandy. Fleeing the Collector Ship, going aboard the Normandy, defending New London, their emergence into this strange new world, and then fleeing a monolithic vessel built like some massive space-borne cathedral while around it a fleet of ships constructed from rock and scrap metal pounded it.

Even further back, looking at the masters of those strange vessels. Orks, creatures of green skin and great slabs of muscle. The devastation they had wrought upon Lodan Primus, cities of billions shattered; men, women and children all slaughtered or enslaved.

There was more. Cathedrals that were miles long and with spires arching into the skies, filled with masses of worshippers voices all raised in song, necrotic servitors granted redemption beyond death so that the Emperor might have mercy upon their criminal souls. She saw sprawling hive cities housing billions in areas only a few dozen square miles across, reaching into the skies like great tumours while in their depths the poor starved and sickened and died by the thousands, vomiting pollution onto blighted and wasted planets. Massive armies of human soldiers marching into battle, ordered by Commissars while generals threw men into the meatgrinder in order to better facilitate strategies that would see thousands die but would have the Imperium triumph in the end.

She saw a world of tunnels where cyclopean hypercanes raged overhead and she knew with the surge of warm affection that bubble up from Malleus' psyche that this was Polyphemus. Names and faces flitted past her; scarred and battered Knight Lord Methuselah Crowlin, wearing a massivesuit of power armour that was built like the hull of tank, grizzled Scout Captain Lennix, Ancient Nokra Lo'Shan, founder of the Sons of Thunder. Chapter Master Denius Kelgin, Chaplain Raeltor Omirris, bellowing into battle with a jump pack and a hymn, so many more. A great bastion of adamantium and Polypheman Granite built into the side of a mountain, the Citadel of Storms, while under the surface massive tunnel cities and mines sprawled. Then more names, Astartes wearing colours and symbols other than those of the Sons; Salamanders, Imperial Fists, Ultramarines, Blood Ravens, Dark Angels White Knights, Fire Beasts, Space Wolves, Raven Guard, Silver Skulls, Black Templars, Crimson Fists, Sons of Orar.

She saw countless battles against countless foes, against swarms of chitinous beasts that choked the horizon with their numbers, against baying, animalistic hordes of the Orks, against lithe, sinewy human-like creatures that fought on barbed vehicles that hovered and sped through the air, against relentless armies of implacable silver machines that took entire magazines to fell and then would rise once more. She saw furious firefights through ruined cities, massive tank battles between great columns of grinding armour, guns and battlecannons booming as they exchanged fire and painted the sky crimson, brutal boarding actions against enemy vessels, ambushes, sorties, raids, orbital drops, sieges, last stands, finishing assaults. She saw war machines of every shape and size; three hundred ton Baneblades, Imperator Titans the size of Yamzarat Machtoro, nigh-invulnerable Land Raiders, the devastatingly powerful Vindicators.

Despite the images of sheer brutality she touched, part of Samara could not help but feel pity for the man whose mind she was looking into. War had been the only thing he known in all of his existence; in many ways, he was a child, utterly ignorant and uncaring for that which did not concern his blood-soaked purpose.

She pushed further, determined to find the Malleus Scandarum who had existed before he had donned power armour. She saw brutal training regimes, surgery conducted by hideous looking doctors who were more machine than man. She saw another boy, head looking huge now that it had been shaved like an egg, grinning at him in a training cage.

"I'm Titus," he said, a voice filled with the same easy self-assurance that bannerman of the Sixth had even now. "I'm going to win this fight, you know."

"I'm Malleus," young Scandarum replied. "Bet you _I'm_ going to win."

There was a blur of fists and Malleus leaving the cage with a broken nose and a friend.

She saw an attack by something in a tunnel that a scrawny, wiry boy fought back with a snapping lasrifle, and then she found the time that Malleus Scandarum was no superhuman.

A snatch of voices, a flicker of light on someone's hair, a faint homely smell, a dusty tunnel and feel of a drill protesting against the palm of the hand. A deep voice saying that one day this mine would be his responsibility and that the people here would one day answer to him, that it was his duty to know them and the work they did. But she couldn't see the speaker's face. All that Malleus could remember about him was that he was tall and had grey hair. Further back deeper into his psyche, momentarily brushing Malleus' DNA with her mind, and in a brief instant she saw a planet of fire and a giant of a man with obsidian skin and ruby eyes…

Suddenly she felt a tugging, Malleus pulling her somewhere else in his mind, and she saw something else entirely. A massive figure, clad in baroque plate etched with twisting brass runes and stylised maws, each finger of his gauntlets ending in talons of metallic bone. Horns curled up from his brow while his eyes blazed with an unnatural flame, and the broken corpse of a murdered child lay at his feet while a purplish tongue snaked between needle teeth to lick the blood from its hideous weapons. And even though he said it with no words, she knew then why Malleus hated the tests this galaxy put on his faith, and what the man who knew no fear was afraid of.

Samara stepped back from Malleus, a look of shock on her features.

"That was…what was that?" she asked. "Who was that?"

"His name was Kholassin the Terror," Malleus said. "Of the Black Legion. He was a traitor and a turncoat, a man who murdered millions of innocents and a fiend who consorted with gods that I will not name. He is what happens when Astartes lose their way, and he and his ilk have wreaked terror upon the galaxy for ten millennia. I cannot allow myself to become anything like that."

Samara sat down slowly; melding was a draining experience for an Asari, but the sheer number of horrific images she had been bombarded with of Malleus' nightmarish home had stunned her. She had seen the darkest side of the galaxy, a seething, stinking underbelly of murder, rape, drugs and wanton cruelty, but compared to this it was nothing. She had respected humanity; they had fought bravely against the Turians, stubbornly holding out against a far superior foe, tried to act diplomatically despite the fact that much of the galaxy did not trust them, had made a great sacrifice at the Battle of the Citadel, but the Imperium was something else. There, humankind had turned into a rabid animal, driven mad by the pain of constant war in a universe where everything was an enemy, and she could not help but pity them. She could not see how anything could survive in that galaxy without turning into something hideous out of simple necessity.

"And you stand firm against all that," she said slowly. "No wonder you hate us."

Malleus nodded, and there was an awkward silence between the two before the Justicar broke it with; "Malleus, I'm sorry about what I said earlier, about you being a coward. I did not know just how terrible your world was. I had no idea."

"You had no way of knowing," Malleus said. "Nobody in this galaxy can even imagine it."

He smiled ruefully.

"I've discovered a good galaxy," he said. "You'd think I'd be happy but it's just torn me apart instead."

He sat next to her, and Samara asked; "So do you still want to kill this entire galaxy, then?"

Malleus shrugged.

"God Emperor knows," he said, tracing the scar along his neck from his battle with the Assassination Engine with his finger. "I've fought too hard for this place now. But as for you and I? I fear that cannot be, Justicar. I respect you, and I daresay that I even view you as a close friend, but I cannot love you. That is something that I fear I am incapable of."

There was a long silence, almost painful in its weight upon them both, before Samara said; "I should go."

That air of millpond calm and serenity that she maintained so very effortlessly seemed to have remained, but somehow he could sense a current under that surface.

"I should rest," she said suddenly. "The melding was…draining, to say the least."

Malleus nodded at this, and Samara made for the door. She stopped halfway there and added; "I'm…I'm sorry for bringing this up. I shouldn't have."

Her voice sounded like it was about to crack, and she hurried through the doorway before Malleus could stop her.

The Brother Captain stared at the battleplan before him, trying to put the conversation to the back of his mind and focus on the more important issue at hand, but he couldn't. For the first time in his life, the diamond-hard focus and determination and resolve that had guided him had been utterly shattered; it had wavered, been skewed, hesitated before, but this complete lack of focus and decision was a feeling utterly alien to him. He felt torn, baffled, guilty for having upset Samara and completely unable to think.

In the end, he finally went to seek solace in prayer.


	57. Chapter 56

[u]Chapter 56-End of Days[/u]

"We are judged in life for the evil we destroy."

The words, Malleus knew, were being relayed across every radio channel in his alliance's network from his place in the centre of their lines. He had his hammer and blade in hand, cutting a heroic figure standing atop the hull of a Somme tank and the perfect image for Emily Wong's camera.

"Today," Malleus continued. "We move to destroy the greatest evil to ever threaten us as a people. It is a menace that has brought misery, pain and death for aeons, but, now, finally it is to be brought to justice; the foe is on their last legs, and we shall strike the blow that shall topple them once and for all."

_And we, too are on our last legs_, Malleus added silently, but he knew better than to say such a thing. The façade of utter iron that he was presenting had to hold, despite the turmoil of confusion that Samara's confession had thrown him into, and he would show no doubt to his troops.

"This is a battle that will decide the fate of the entire galaxy," he said. "One for which we can hold nothing back. And so, as one warrior to another, I ask you now to arm yourselves with the greatest weapon we have in our arsenal. Some of you may be wondering what this weapon is; perhaps the lasrifles with which you have been issued, maybe the great guns of Yamzarat Machtoro, the Thunderhawk or Faith's Fury. Some of you may think that the greatest weapons we have available are my brothers and myself, but you would be mistaken. It is one that every soldier here can arm themselves with; courage."

Rhetoric taken from Lord Solar Macharius, but Malleus knew that only he, his brothers and Kurias would have any knowledge of that.

"Arm yourselves with courage and steel your souls with conviction, and there will be no enemy that you cannot overcome," Malleus said. "Prepare to give no ground, give no surrender and stand and fight with all your worth, and victory will be possible. We are to be the hammer that shall smite this foe to the ground and the blade that shall stab out their hearts. We are to be the bringers of justice that has been overdue for billions of years, and let me tell you this; we shall be judge, jury and executioner, and whatever happens in the battle to come, _we will not fail_."

He nodded to Titus, and said across the vox to him alone; "The banner, brother."

Titus pressed the activation stud on the haft of the Sons' colours, and the holo-projectors that had been built into flicked the image into life. On a background of pure white, trimmed with gold were a hammer and lightning bolt, the proud symbol of the Sons of Thunder. Above that hung a representation of Holy Terra itself, slowly rotating to show each nation of the planet, and then around the Sons' emblem the flag of every people to fight in the war against the Reapers. Finally, below that all, the centrepiece of the banner, was the image of a knight in armour standing triumphant over a snarling dragon on a ruined city, burning blade raised to stab out its heart. Finally, set in scrolling on the bottom were the words; "For the Emperor, for Terra, for Life Itself."

"Let them come," Malleus said. "Let them come to break upon our defences, to fall upon our blades, to be smote by our guns. They believe this an easy fight, but we well prove them wrong. Stand firm, stand tall and stand proud, for you are the heroes that our children and the children of our children will sing of; you, my friends, you are the heroes that shall be known forever more to stand defiant in the name of life. You are the heroes that shall bring an end to death itself!"

That was the cue; the link was cut, radio networks preparing for the confusion of combat that was to come, Emily ending her recording as Maleus stepped off his tank and said into the vox; "Give me a status report."

"Still incoming," came the reply from Miranda, from here place in the main coordination centre that Malleus alliance was using.

"Yamzarat Machtoro's lance cannon has range on them, and Kaede has a target locked," Tali informed Malleus. "Shall I fire?"

"Not yet," Malleus said. "Hold until I give the order."

"They're getting into range," Miranda warned, looking at the information relayed to her from the Normandy and the few remaining Drell stealth-vessels that were serving as their eyes in space. "Detecting energy building in their weapons systems. They're bombarding, Malleus; we need to fire back."

"Not yet," Malleus replied, even as lances of crimson began to score down from the sky, burning into the ground and gouging great furrows from the already ravaged ground. "We need to force them to commit."

The shots were unguided ones, targets scrambled by blinder defences that Kullas had put together over the night in a frenzy of work with Tali and several other engineers, but they were devastating nonetheless. Bunkers and defences were atomised, soldiers manning them stripped into nothing, while ammunition stores and vehicles detonated beneath the onslaught.

"Hold fire," Malleus ordered. "Miranda, as soon as they're within half of our range, tell me."

"Understood," she replied. "They're getting close, still approaching."

The tactic was simple and brutal, soften them up with orbital bombardment before disgorging yet more of their soldiers and armour to finish them off. The Reapers wanted to finish this with a ground engagement, sned a message to the battered remnants of the galaxy, ignorant as they were of the weapons that Malleus now had at his command, and even though casualties were already mounting into the thousands, he held his hand.

"They're in range, they're in range," Miranda warned him, and even though she couldn't see it, Malleus nodded.

"Open fire," he said. "Show no mercy!"

The lance cannon and Faith's Fury screamed into life and cast their judgement skywards.

"Two down, two down!" Miranda called. "We have two falling!"

"Excellent," Malleus said. "What of their forces already on the ground?"

"They're moving across the Channel now," Miranda said. "Coastal defences are engaging."

Malleus nodded. Now he just needed to see how long they could hold the line.

#

Dover's famous white cliffs had turned red.

Flak fire from anti-air batteries zigzagged across the sky into the Reaper dropships that were advancing, smashing them from the sky even as they tried to push forwards. Beam fire speared through the air only to be countered by shots from heavy weapon emplacements, smoke filling the sky from burning wreckages and aircraft from both sides screamed overhead, exchanging fire through the air.

Kurias grimaced against the G-forces exerted on him in the Thunderhawk's cockpit as he banked round, engines roaring as they fought against gravity's power. The manoeuvre was enough to throw the two Reaper craft tailing him for a moment, and he called into the radio; "They're open, hit them now!"

Behind him, two more jets sliced in from above, hitting the unwary Reaper planes in their tops with cannon and missile shots and smashing them to the sky.

"Both craft confirmed KIA," Iorix buzzed through the radio to Kurias. "Your tail is clear."

"Were safe to move on the target," Alma added as she pulled her craft into a V-formation with the Iorix and Kurias.

"Understood," Kurias said. "Let's show these Reapers what it means to deal with a Thunderhawk, then."

The old captain would admit that he was surprised by having a Turian and an Asari as part of the impromptu squadron he had gathered to watch the Thunderhawk's back, but the pair of them were already veterans of multiple engagements with Reaper forces, and Alma had been flying longer than even he had. They were good, probably the best that the allied forces had to offer, and xenos or not, Kurias had to admit they were doing a damn fine job.

The Thunderhawk swept lower, and he fired the turbolaser into the heavier duty gunship that was advancing slightly slower than its peers, thick kinetic barriers seemingly impervious to the fire of the AA batteries and it own weapons wreaking havoc on friendly forces. But against the sheer power of one of the Imperium's most powerful non-naval weapons it was helpless, barriers blasted away and armour melted. It crashed into the ground in a burning welter of flame and wreckage, shedding twisted scrap metal, and Kurias pulled away, circling upwards in order to try and find a better target.

From the water below the cliffs, massive waves broke, dark hulls of superstalkers sliding from the waves, and Kurias glowered as he pulled down for a turbolaser run on them; abominations had stolen Yamzarat Machtoro's trick.

"Emperor Almighty!" he cursed suddenly, pulling away as the beam weapons mounted on the nose of one sent a shot spearing towards him, the other two breaking formation to avoid it.

Massive clawed feet dug into the chalk of the cliffs with ease, and the three titan-sized vehicles hauled their way upwards onto the flat. Their massive beam cannons spoke, ripping apart several of the AA batteries that were suppressing the majority of their dropships and aircraft, even as Kurias swept downwards in the Thunderhawk and scored a direct hit into the spine of one of them, sending it toppling downwards.

Another two pulled themselves from the sea in the wake of their vanguard, pulling themselves over the clifftops and adding their fire to that of the devastating salvo of the other superstalkers. More of the AA batteries detonated, and there were calls across the radio to fall back to the second line of defences.

"We've got a second wave of enemy aircraft incoming," Iorix warned. "What do we do?"

"Fall back from the superstalkers," Kurias ordered. "Those are air support for those things, not after us. Engage any that try to come after us."

"Understood," Alma said.

On the ground, the allied forces fell back int eh best order that they could with titans advancing upon them, fleeing to APCs and the second line of heavy-duty defences. Based on the old bunker lines that, more than two centuries beforehand, the Ministry of Defence had placed in case of Nazi invasion, the second line of defences were equipped to deal with superstalkers, mass-driver cannon emplacements dug in along with more AA batteries and bunkers.

Jeeps and APCs were packed to the brim with soldiers as they fell back towards that line, while friendly VTOL gunships duelled with Reaper dropships that threatened to disgorge troops right in front of the fleeing forces. Aircraft fought the Reapers for air superiority, planes from both sides diving and weaving around each other, but always, always they were pushed back by the superstalkers and their terrible firepower, the giants safeguarded from airstrike by the craft that swarmed around them.

The heavy batteries and artillery of the second defence line opened up on the super-heavies as they came into range, explosions rippling off their shields, slowly wearing them down. AA batteries chattered as they sent shots into the planes overhead, streams of flak and guided missiles striking the foe from the skies.

The reply of the superstalkers was devastating, massive beam weapons sweeping over the defence lines and obliterating them utterly. Those that remained fired back defiantly as they pulled closer, and Kurias grinned viciously as they advanced.

"Over their top," he said, banking the Thunderhawk upwards before diving it down.

The lascannons speared ahead of him, sweeping a pair of Reaper craft from the sky as Iorix and Alma followed up with cannon shots and missiles. Another few squadrons of Alliance craft did the same, pulling Reaper jets away from their charges as they pursued, and Kurias banked upwards with four more in pursuit of him, Alma and Iorix forced to pull away to shake bogies on their tail. He continued to pull higher and higher, forcing them up with him as he broke past cloud level, pulling vertical before he yanked at the controls and sent the forced the Thunderhawk level, yanking it in a turn that brought him behind the enemy craft before they even knew what was happening. Blood pounded in his head as his flight suit fought to keep him from going into a blinding red-out, but he gunned his engines and pulled up behind them.

In moments, the lascannons found a lock on the rear two before they could pull around, and he banked after the remaining raven-like Reaper jets as they tried to drop away from him. The lascannons took one more target out, the other rolling away just in time to avoid it destroying the wings, but he glanced at the targeting display for the hellstrike missiles as it dropped below the cloud. The servitor-slaved system had a lock, and he fired just as he guided the Thunderhawk into the blinding fug. As he broke free, he saw the missile hit its target, the Reaper jet slammed form the air, and he grinned viciously as it tumbled to the ground far below.

He pulled up behind Alma, striking the Reaper craft on her tail from the skies, and the two planes banked round to see the scene below them unfold just as the advancing titans reached the kill-zone; now in position, Malleus' trap for the inevitable super-heavy walkers was sprung, and the ground below them exploded.

It was simple and crude, mines armed with huge-scale fusion charges detonating upwards in great gouts of pure heat. Kinetic barriers already weakened by artillery fire were ripped away, armoured hulls were melted and the engines that drove them were gutted utterly. Nothing more than empty, half-melted shells, the superstalkers collapsed, smashing to the ground in impacts that sent shockwaves rippling through the earth.

The Thunderhawk pulled away from the sight of the falling colossi, but Kurias knew that the battle was far from won, more dropships landing and vomiting forth yet another wave of Reaper troopers and lighter armour. Dover had served as a trap for their titans, and now its purpose was served; the troops there would hold as long as they could, but after that, it was on to the final battleground for this war.

London was going to burn.


	58. Chapter 57

Chapter 57-The Wall

The target in Garrus' scope fell in just one shot, the lance of focussed light bypassing the visored soldier's shields and melting through its neck. It stumbled blindly for a moment, systems seemingly unable to register that it was dead, before it collapsed to the ground uselessly.

More if its kin moved up on its position, weapons blazing as they laid down rounds, even as blue lasfire snapped through the air in return and cut them down. The lethal kill boxes they were forced into by the network of earthworks and minefields were proving their worth, while the defenders hunkered down in the heavily reinforced roadway that now served as a wall around the city. An ancient motorway known as the M25 that had surrounded the city back when the city had been navigated by ground-bound traffic, it had been transformed into a great wall through the placement of heavy blocks of concrete and bunkers, backed up by heavy-duty mass accelerator cannons and missile turrets.

It was a slaughterhouse, the enemy forced onto a broad, flat expanse of tarmac that provided no cover whatsoever from the shield-mitigating power of the lasrifles. The Reapers' masked soldiers were cut down by the score, and even their fearsome stalk tanks struggled to advanced under the hail of fire; carefully placed longlas shots were enough to melt through the joints in their legs and weapon arms, immobilising and disarming them.

A trio of Alliance jets shrieked overhead, dropping a payload of guided bombs onto the enemy ranks in a fullisade of explosive firepower, and there was the sound of engines from behind Garrus as a squadron of Makos rumbled up, the hardy vehicles disgorging soldiers of various species out of the ramps at their backs. They dispersed to positions across the wall, getting to cover and pouring fire against the Reaper onslaught, and Garrus ducked down behind the wall that served as shelter from the enemy's guns.

"We've got this part reinforced," he announced into the radio. "I repeat, this part of the wall is reinforced. Where do you need us, Miranda?"

"Three clicks east," she replied. "We've got enemy forces pressing on Junction Fifteen, trying to breach the point, and the defenders there are at risk of being overwhelmed."

"Understood," Garrus replied, send me the coordinates and we'll get there."

He changed radio channels and called into it; "All squad members, this is Archangel. Get to the transport and prepare to move; we've got a new position to defend."

He got various affirmative replies, and nodded as he slung his newly acquired longlas on his back and scrambled down the ladder that led up to the sniper's nest he was using. He wished he had Legion with him; as odd as the Geth was at times, it had proved itself invaluable as a spotter.

He hopped off the last rung of the ladder onto the mud ground, heading towards the Mako they were using as a transport, the others already waiting for him. Samara, Jack, Ashley, Grunt, Mordin and Okeen were waiting for him, and they clambered aboard as he hauled himself into the driver's seat. He glanced at the navigation equipment on the armoured vehicle's dashboard to get an idea of where he was going, before he gunned the engines and it rumbled forwards.

"Just like old times, isn't it, Ash?" he asked as the vehicle bounced over a small hillock of mud. "Us getting into the Mako to chase after some robotic thing that has it in for organics."

"Bigger scale than I remember," Ashley replied from the turret as they rumbled forwards across the battlefield. "Somehow didn't seem quite so scary back then."

Garrus gave a buzzing chuckle at this, before he checked the navigation systems.

"Nearly there," he announced. "Get ready to come out firing, the zone's hot."

There was a nod from the crew, and Ashley said; "Eyes on hostiles; opening up now."

There was a muffled boom as the cannon fired, and she opened fire with the IFV's machine gun, and she added; "They're over the wall; this isn't good."

"Understood," Garrus said. "Samara, Jack, prepare to get a shield up. Get out on my signal."

He gunned the jets beneath its hull to send it upwards high enough to dodge a shot from an anti-tank weapon, and it landed heavily before Garrus yelled; "GO GO GO!"

Jack was out first, the tattooed biotic throwing up a barrier around them as mass-accelerator rounds sparked off it, Samara adding her own abilities to it moments later. Grunt was out next, his Claymore in hand, and Okeen followed, submachine gun already blazing as he provided covering fire. Mordin sent a bolt of destabilised plasma towards the enemy as he disembarked, the tech attack punching a Reaper soldier that had the misfortune to have downed barriers from its feet, melting through armour and knocking it to the ground.

Garrus and Ashley followed, the tow of them ducking to cover before their two biotic specialists did the same, dropping their bubble of protective force. Garrus rose from cover to snap off a shot with his longlas at one of the Reaper footsoldiers that opened fire on them.

"Grunt, Okeen, get close and draw their fire," he ordered. "Move round their flank, hit them from there. Jack, I want a shockwave on that concentration there, break them up!"

"On it," Jack said as Krogan and Astartes moved to position. She stepped out of cover, the kinetic barrier she wore rippling as a round slammed into it, before explosions of blue force rippled away from her, slamming into the crowd of enemy soldiers before her. The wave was enough to send them flying, scattering the rest before Grunt and Okeen slammed into their flank.

Grunt's beloved Claymore shotgun blasted out the shields of one enemy, while the screaming chainblade on Okeen's narthecium ripped through the chest of another. The apothecary threw the foe aside and slammed shoulder-first into a second, slamming it to the ground before crushing it with a heavy ceramite and plasteel boot.

Garrus snapped off another shot before he ducked behind cover and said; "Miranda, it's just us here; we need support, air or ground, I don't care."

"I'll send what I can," Miranda said across the radio, an edge of strain on her voice. "I've got three more breaches to deal with here, Garrus, and not enough soldiers to plug them with."

"Well send _something_!" the Turian snapped back. "We're going to get overwhelmed out here!"

He ducked away from the aim of an enemy's anti-tank weapon, the stream of hyper-accelerated metal melting away the chunk of rubble he was sheltering behind. The return shot was a clean one through the chest, the power of the lasbeam enough to melt away the internal circuitry and topple it to the ground.

The concrete barrier before them suddenly fell, a stalk tank, and Garrus cursed furiously as he sent a shot towards one of its weapon arms. It went wide, melting a crater into its hull, and he cursed as it turned its aim towards him. He was moving as it fired, the beam shot gouging a trench from the ground as it tracked him.

Suddenly, its aim was thrown as Okeen landed atop its hull seemingly from nowhere. There was a roaring, screaming noise as he jammed his narthecium's chainblade into the gap in the stalk tank's armoured plates, adamantium teeth biting viciously into the dark metal and ripping away the join. He placed his other gauntlet into the gap and pulled, peeling away a chunk of the metal before priming a frag grenade and jamming it into the internal workings, jumping away as it detonated and gutted the enemy walker. He landed heavily on the ground, and charged forwards into a pair of Reaper soldiers that opened fire on him, their rounds pinging off his power armour. The chainblade dissected one from neck to waist, his submachine gun up and jammed past the barriers of the other, the point blank shot punching past its armour and toppling it.

Garrus had to admit it, even after all this time, seeing the Astartes in action was still an awe-inspiring sight.

"Miranda, I'm still waiting for that support," he said as he ducked behind cover. "We can't hold out forever here."

"Don't worry," came the reply. "I've got help coming your way, Garrus."

#

He had finally heard the words he had wanted to here since he had first spilled the blood of the Almarach Ikmrin when they had descended for their final assault. He and Kullas had eliminated four targets between them before the Reapers had got low enough to be below their angle of fire, landing on the coast to disgorge yet more reinforcements. So far, he had stood idle in the battle that had raged on the fringes of the city, held in reserve, but now, finally, he heard what he wanted to hear.

"Yamzarat Machtoro," Tali said from her command throne. "I've got word from Malleus; there are enemy god machines in sight of London, and he wants you to hold the line."

"Where to, Lady Machtoro?" Yamzarat Machtoro asked.

"Just got the location now," Macjec said. "You see it?"

"Aye," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled, the cockpit shaking as he headed forwards through the street. He cackled, the noise enough to send those windows on the buildings that weren't shattered rattling, his two immense main guns ready to fire. His progress was swift, each great tread covering entire streets in one go, and soon he was at London's outskirts.

"Marking ground targets for you now," Yukio said, her fingers dancing across the holographic displays in front of her as she found suitable targets for his cannon. "Open up."

Still striding forwards, his kinetic barriers impervious to few shots that were arrayed against him, Yamzarat Machtoro's cannon opened up, the rapid-firing mass driver shells sending explosions stitching across the lines before him, a salvo of artillery fire that was enough to scatter the Reaper forces.

"Macjec, keep on the scanners for any signs of superstalkers," Tali ordered while the titan she commanded fired. "I want an alert as soon as you see them, understood?"

"Will do, chief," Macjec said.

There was a chattering as Parker opened up with the anti-air batteries on Yamzarat Machtoro's shoulders, rapid firing flak cannons shooting skywards in order to ward off the Reaper aircraft that were sweeping towards the god machine. Other lesser weapon systems picked off individual stalk tanks, railguns overpowering shields with hyper-velocity slugs, before Macjec suddenly called; "Superstalkers on the scanners! Superstalkers on the scanners!"

Through Yamzarat Machtoro's cameras, Tali could see them as vague, forbidding silhouettes on the horizon, their peculiar, spider-like gait marking them out as their targets as they raised their legs and stabbed them down into the ground once more.

"The Almarach Machtoro show their faces at last," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled. "Give me a target, Loggat-Mistress."

"Getting one now," Yukio replied, tapping at the holograms that hovered around her, a frown of concentration on her face. "Keep still, otherwise we won't have the energy to fire this thing."

Yamzarat Machtoro's steps halted, the god machine planting his feet steady as he turned his colossal lance cannon into position.

"Are we in range?" he asked.

"Of course we're in range, this is a starship grade weapon," Yukio replied. "Got your target locked on."

"Go for the optics, Yamzarat Machtoro," Tali ordered, smiling quietly beneath her mask.

The lance cannon fired, a spear of blinding azure light crossing the mile-long gap between the two god machines in an instant. Its kinetic barriers unable to provide any sort of protection against one of the Imperium's most powerful weapons, the massive lasbeam tore right through it from front to rear, skewering it entirely and travelling almost three miles further on before the energy dispersed, much of it spend burning through the god machine. Its entire core ripped out and melted away, the superstalker collapsed, the others suddenly thrown by this development.

"Getting you a new target," Yukio said. "Lance cannon's charging now. Alright, it's done; give them hell, big guy!"

"My pleasure," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled back, before he fired once more.

The shot from the colossal weapon tore forwards, air crackling as the sheer heat ionized it and filled it with the stink of ozone. The superstalker that was hit had its entire side melted away, innards reduced to nothing more than a molten slag, and it slumped sideways, great furrows of earth pushed upwards by its fall.

A third screamed out, tearing another one to pieces, and Yamzarat Machtoro laughed, the noise enough to carry all across the battlefield.

"Three kills and the foe do not even have range," he said, watching the enemy god machines as they began to backpedal in an effort to escape the wrath of the lance cannon. "This is almost too easy."

"Let's not get cocky now," Yukio said. "Let's face it, the worst is yet to come."

Tali knew that she was right; in her role as Lady Machtoro, Malleus had revealed his plan for Yamzarat Machtoro in the battle to come and what he and his immense firepower were to be used for. The destruction of the enemy god machines was just a lure, a means to force the enemy's hand so that the real problem might be dealt with.

They were going to force the Reapers to come right to them; that would be the only way to obtain victory. And then, with luck, they would strike the final blow, one that had been coming for billions of years.

It was time to bring justice to the foe.


	59. Chapter 58

**Author's note:** Completely unrelated to the story, but;

THERE IS A NERF BOLT PISTOL GET IT FOR ME NOW!

That will be all…

Chapter 58-Shadow of the Colossi

War was the ultimate artist.

With its brush, a shade of beautiful orange had been painted upon a canvas of black, ash-choked clouds that occupied the night sky. Columns of smoke billowed skywards from the burning ruins of countless wrecked vehicles, while shattered buildings slumped groundwards, naught but undulating hills of rubble. Proud and tall in his white livery, Yamzarat Machtoro stood his ground behind the hastily improvised wall that bordered the city, beams of burning heat screaming from his lance cannon as he cackled with deafening noise. Batteries of artillery and mass-driver cannons barked and sent puffs of flame blossoming outwards into the enemy lines where they sheltered in the ruins of London's suburbs. Careful cross-hatching of lasrifle fire shaded the battlefield, cutting down the enemy as they tried to make it across the dead ground, and the armour that protected their corpses reflected the hellish light like the carapaces of beetles. It was accompanied by a relentless rhythm of explosions and gunfire, the cracks and snaps of lasrifles, the screaming of Yamzarat Machtoro's lance cannon and his cackling, deep bass drums of shells detonating. The pungent stink of smoke, ozone and scorched metal pervaded everything in the city.

It was lethal, it was beautiful, and yet despite this, Malleus was not happy.

He glowered at the tactical map before him, looking at the crimson rash of contact markers that was highlighted all across the southern edge of the city, as if somehow directing his ire at it would cause the vexing situation to cease to be. The blue hologram was unobliging, and he shook his head, standing up straight in the command bunker, shaven head a finger's width from the ceiling. Around them, various strategic personnel were bustling, coordinating radio and information networks, looking over data feeds, dispatching air and artillery support in coordination with those in charge of such things.

"Eight hours," he said eventually. "Eight hours they have been throwing their troops at us, eight hours we've held with hardly enemy breaches, and eight hours where their damnable masters have been too cowardly to show their faces."

"Perhaps it's a blinding manoeuvre," Suvat suggested, the Turian general frowning at he map as well. "Distract us while they try and outflank us." 

"That's what I suspect, aye," Malleus said. "Throwing troops at us like this simply to try and break through is foolish tactic considering the resources at their disposal; they must be planning something."

He shook his head. "God Emperor, what I wouldn't give for a few UAVs right now."

Suvat shrugged.

"What do you suggest we do?" he asked.

"Keep our forces where they are," Malleus said. "Keep the underground stations ready for rapid redeployment, and stay vigilant. It might be that they're simply too afraid to show their faces and hope to defeat us with numbers alone, and we can't risk the south wall breaking just by acting on suspicion."

Suvat nodded.

"Still doesn't feel right, though," he said in his slightly hoarse, buzzing tone. "We must have killed thousands of their people by now, hundreds of thousands. Yamzarat Machtoro has taken down nearly a dozen of their superstalkers and yet they're still coming."

"They don't care about casualties, not when they have the means to simply repair them," Malleus replied. "They have more than us, but all of this? However many troops they throw at us we're able to hold. They know that, we know that. It's preposterous."

He glowered at the holographic image before him once more, as if hoping to gain some new insight in the winking crimson constellation of contact markers before him. In his hear, the vox bead suddenly blurted into life, someone calling across; "Sir, we've got enemy contacts to the northwest."

"Report," Malleus ordered brusquely. "Give me numbers and force disposition, immediately."

"Multiple superstalkers, with air and ground escort," came the reply, whichever subordinate it was feeding the data onto the battlemap. "Hold on, sir, more coming in from the northeast."

"Understood," Malleus said. "Give me exact numbers as soon as you can."

"Five in the northeast division, three in the northwest," was the answer.

"Acknowledged, Scandarum out."

He tapped a few buttons on the projector before them and a green dome appeared around it, showing the effective range of their anti-aircraft weaponry. A few more presses, and they had a red circle projecting from the enemy position, showing the range of their weapons.

"If we time it correctly, a concerted air assault on one of the enemy's positions would be enough to bring the Thunderhawk down upon them while their aircraft in range of our AA assets, without risking them firing upon the wall," Malleus said.

"That only deals with one of them, though," Suvat pointed out, looking at the small corridor of green that was slowly shrinking as the superstalkers advanced. "And I'm not sure that we'd have enough time to deal with the second group either."

Malleus nodded.

"We do have something else capable of dealing with Titan scale vehicles, however," he said.

"We can't move Yamzarat Machtoro, if that's what you're suggesting," Suvat said. "He's pretty much the only thing keeping the south from folding entirely."

"So I'm aware," Malleus said. "That wasn't what I was talking about, general."

In a swift movement, his hammer was released from the mag-clamps that held it to his waist, and was twirling gently in his fingers, its head crackling with energy.

"This weapon has been in the hands of the Brother Captains of the Sixth for more than fifteen centuries," Malleus said. "In its time, it has destroyed an Eldar Phantom, crippled the drives of an Ork scraptitan and delivered the killing blow to the traitorous Warhound Rex Defanatum."

Suvat frowned for a moment, before he said; "That means nothing to me whatsoever."

Malleus shook his head, before he said; "I suppose I should have expected that. Long story short, general, this is more than capable of destroying large vehicles."

It landed, head down and deactivated, on the metal surface of the table beneath the hologram with a clang loud enough to momentarily silence the bustle of the command centre.

"It is time," Malleus said, voice low as if talking only to Suvat, yet carrying out to the others around him. "That I took to the field personally."

The weapon was by his belt, and he said; "Keep me informed of any major developments, General. Otherwise, I'm confident in your ability to command our forces."

Suvat nodded as Malleus left, calling Titus and Cyralius to his side, summoning a gunship to carry them to war.

It would be good to bloody his weapons once more.

#

The gunship streaked forwards low and fast over the ravaged landscape, the scars of war turning it into something unrecognizable from the suburbs the area it was passing once was. The wreckage of Alliance dreadnoughts formed great hillocks of twisted, mangled metal from where the Reapers had shot them down in the midst of their bombardment, and a few miles away he could see the wreckage of one of the Old Machines that they had destroyed with the Thunderhawk all those weeks ago.

"Coming up close," the pilot announced. "We'll be in range of enemy point-defences soon enough."

"Set us down and prepare to extract when I give the word," Malleus ordered. "We will take it from here."

It landed in the lee of a crushed house, hovering a metre above the ground as Malleus, Titus and Cyralius disembarked with a thud. They could see the engines a few hundred metres away, stalking forwards in utter ignorance of their approaching foe, each fall of their massive feet shaking the ground.

"You know the plan, brothers," he said. "We have five engines to deal with here; then we fall back."

"Understood," Titus said. "And now I get the unenviable task of drawing their fire."

"That's what I keep a banner by me for," Malleus replied with a slight smile.

"It's always nice to know I'm loved," Titus remarked. "Still, I'll be ready to go when you are."

Malleus nodded, before he said; "Closer. Then we strike."

Despite their size, the Astartes were swift and quiet, moving forwards through the many trenches, craters and fields of twisted, tortured metal. There were more than a few wrecked vehicles and half-rotten bodies, but they passed them over without comment, drawing to a halt only when the first of the enemy came into view. Just over two hundred metres from the first of the superstalkers were their infantry escort, weapons up and alert even this far from hostile lines. Behind them, one of the spiked feet of the massive walkers crashed down into the earth with a spray of muddy water, and Malleus nodded to the others.

Titus was out first, the proud colours of the banner shimmering into life, bellowing the warcry of the Sons of Thunder in High Gothic. He sprinted to the left, fire spraying from his shotgun as the enemy turned to face him, leaping from a ridge of scrap metal to land heavily among the foe. His weapon boomed and barked, drawing the foe towards him, and Malleus nodded to Cyralius; "Let's move."

They broke out of their own cover, smashing past a small group of surprised Reaper footsoldiers with hammer, blade and staff. Split by the dual threats of the bannerman and his separate brothers, fire was thinner than it could be, and in moments Malleus and Cyralius were in the shadow of the colossus.

"Now!" the Brother-Captain ordered, and Cyralius sent a bolt of lighting upwards, laced with warping dark energy. The reality-defying pulse of Warp-fuelled magnetism ripped its shields away, and it was then that Malleus struck. He swung his hammer, the weapon's machine spirit detecting a target split seconds before it hit, sending its power field blasting forwards in a strike that tore a chunk of armour away.

The shockwave was enough to pulverise the inner working, throwing gears and pistons out of place, and the limb folded. Suddenly robbed of its support, the superstalker began to fall. There was a screeching, grinding noise of tortured metal sounding as the leg twisted at an angle and sheered off under the thousands of tons of weight bearing down upon it, and the superstalker thudded to the ground, lamed and helpless.

There was a shrieking noise, and Malleus glanced up to see another of the colossi firing towards him. The stream of hyper-accelerated liquidised metal tore towards him and he moved as it melted its way through the side of its now-useless fellow, tearing out its heart as Malleus disappeared from view.

A bolt of lightning powered overhead, cracking its shields off and seeming to power the weapon down for a few moments, and Malleus used the opening Cyralius had given him. He vaulted onto one of the fallen superstalker's legs, boots splashing in the muddy earth as he landed on the other side of its hull, and tore towards the second at a dead sprint. His thunder hammer cracked through the air as it hit, just as the limb was raising, the impact powerful enough to flip a land raider and forcing the limb away.

It crashed down towards him, and Malleus spat a curse as he moved out its way, a great slew of earth and muddy water following its impact. It stopped mere feet away from him, the joint of the damaged limb right next to its position, and he could already hear the infernal mechanism that powered it whine into life as it tried to lift it upright.

Gaius' blade swung down, wreathed in crackling energies, shearing through the limb and putting paid to that hope, before his thunder hammer boomed again, knocking the limb clear before he bellowed; "Cyralius! Get over here and gut this abomination!"

Librarian complied as the superstalker futilely attempted to rise, flame blasting from his palm through the wound Malleus had sliced and melting away its innards, spearing towards it heart. Malleus, on the other hand, was already moving, sprinting towards their last target with a roar of righteous fury on his lips.

It fired, and he moved out of the way in time to avoid the lethal shot, the golden paint on his pauldron bubbling as the heat melted it away. He got beneath its angle of fire, ignoring the shots from the auxiliary weapon batteries mounted upon its legs as they poured shots towards him, raising his blade and slicing down with a single turn through shields and armour alike; the field surrounding the weapon tore past the kinetic barriers, and sheared through the dark metal, melting it away.

The machine managed to keep its balance, raising the stump to try and sending it crashing down upon him, and Malleus dashed out its way as it crashed down. He knew there would be no chance of it falling, the infernal intellect that piloted it no doubt already working out how to walk on a shortened limb, but he just needed another blow to be struck against it, and his thunder hammer was in hand to strike.

The head of the weapon slammed against the armour of its other leg, buckling its immense knee. Robbed of its balance, it slowly began to groan forwards, toppling to the ground while metal screamed in protest. Flame belched from abused joints as engines and pistons were pushed to their limits, and it crashed to the ground.

The weapon-lense at the front of its hull stared balefully at Malleus as he approached, mechanisms within whirring as they tried to focus on him. The impact was enough to have halted it firing, and Malleus raised his thunder hammer before bringing it down with the force to shatter the armoured glass and jolt its innards to ruin.

He stepped away from the slain god machine in time to see the dark shapes of the Reaper rising on the horizon, no doubt realising their gambit had failed.

"Brother Captain," Kullas' voice buzzed in his ear. "Do you see these?"

"I do," Malleus said. "I'm returning now."

"I am glad to hear," Kullas replied. "Permission to engage?"

"Granted, Forge Priest," Malleus said. "Show them the Emperor's Fury."

In the command throne of Faith's Fury, as he heard the reports coming in from the massive cannon's crew members, Kullas smiled grimly.

"It shall be my pleasure, brother-captain."


	60. Chapter 59

Chapter 59-Son of Mars

"Locking on to the target now," one of the techs called from their console. "Target lock gained."

"Understood," Kullas said. "How do the power generators fare? Are we ready to fire?"

"Powering up now," someone else said. "Nearly ready."

"Inform me as soon as they are," Kullas said. "Prepare to bring the Omnissah's judgement upon these scum."

He muttered the Canticle of Target Finding in chattering binaric as he manipulated the holograms that hovered around him. The machine spirits obeyed his instructions, the cannon beginning to ponderously swivel on the axis of its main dome to face the target in a single smooth motion. Although the unguents that the motion systems had been only hastily blessed by Kullas, and the appeasements made by the tech crew read out somewhat falteringly from instructions on omnitools, the machine spirits had clearly been pleased enough with their treatment to be cooperative.

"Main gun is powered up," came the word, and Kullas nodded.

His direct link with the machine spirit of Faith Fury, a young, proud thing, he could sense, meant he needed no firing stud or activation rune. Instead, he both gave it verbally and from the neural bond that he shared with it through is Black Carapace multifarious augmetics.

"Fire!"

A single straight lance of crimson energy speared from the massive gun, its shape held by the electromagnets in the two prongs before it was free, screaming through the air towards the target. It hit the Reaper full on, the dreadful power of its own weapons turned against it and slamming into it mercilessly.

"Targets' shields are down," Legion buzzed from where the damnable thing was monitoring the scanners.

That was the one fly currently in Kullas' ointment; Legion. He had managed to relegate the synthetic to the position of watching various screens, but it seemed that despite this it was unperturbed as usual. Omnissah, the thing was too stupid to take a hint.

"We're ready to fire once more," someone called as Kullas tracked his advancing target, the massive dreadnought advancing almost sedately despite the fire it sent screaming forwards from its colossal guns into the city. Luckily, their angle was such that Faith's Fury was currently a hard shot to make, but Kullas knew such a situation would not last.

He cast his judgement once more, the beam tearing into the unshielded Reaper. Mass-driver impelled mercury hit whatever dark metal armoured the Reaper and tore right through its heart. The material almost seemed to evaporate away from the impact, edges glowing read as the shot passed through it, and the Reaper slowly crashed to the ground, a colossal cloud of dust being thrown up from the impact.

He could feel the satisfaction of Faith's Fury's machine spirit at the kill, mirroring his own. There was a thirst for yet more of the blood of mankind's enemies, he could feel, and part of him sent a placatory sensation to it, telling it that soon there would be yet more to spill.

The vid-feeds saw a beam of blue light scream from Yamzarat Machtoro's lance cannon as he fired a final parting shot at the foe, finally falling back from his position on the wall to seek cover amongst the buildings where he would be a less vulnerable target. The impact was enough to strike another of the Reapers from the sky, and even from here he heard the deep booming of the titan chuckling in triumph.

The Reapers began to gain height, no doubt trying to keep track of the titan and find the position of Faith's Fury, and Kullas called out to the crew; "Get me another target, immediately!"

A lock was found, an alert came through the cannon was ready to fire as Kullas began to rotate the weapon upon its axis with a deep humming of massive gears and servos as they came to life. Kullas found the target it, and could feel the bloodthirsty joy of the anti-orbital cannon's machine spirit as he gave the order to fire. It complied eagerly, beam fire screaming from its barrel into another Reaper, impelled by the power of it generators and firing mechanisms and the hate of its machine spirit.

The shot was powerful enough to knock out the foe's shields, and Legion warned; "It has found our location. We detect heat buildup in its weapons."

"The shields will hold," Kullas replied, thinking of the dedicated generators working and whirring away below him, each one having been thrice-blessed by him personally in order to have the machine spirits run at their maximum capacity. "Inform me when we are ready to fire again."

Heat lanced from the splayed fingers of the Reaper, slamming into the kinetic barriers that protected Faith's Fury and sending them crackling furiously. For a few moments, the assault held before the Reaper dropped its fire, steam venting from its weapon-fingers as it cooled them.

"Status report on the shields, now!" Kullas ordered.

"Holding at sixty percent," Legion replied. "Predict one more shot can be safely sustained unless extra power is diverted."

"I am aware of that, foolish machine!" Kullas snapped at the Geth, before he demanded; "What of our cannon's power? When can we fire?"

"Just finished charging," someone else called. "We should be good to go."

"Excellent," Kullas said. "Set to restoring the shields' power, immediately. Firing now; Omnissah vult!"

The beam of pure fury screamed into the Reaper, striking it from the skies, and Kullas felt a surge of satisfaction from the machine spirit at another foe slain. Another shot screamed from Yamzarat Machtoro's lance cannon in a different part of the city, striking another foe from the skies, while the Thunderhawk swooped in, a pass with the turbolaser causing yet more grief for the Reapers.

"They are splitting their forces," Legion warned. "We have a division coming to attack us, three of them."

Kullas nodded, before he said; "Channel all auxiliary power into the shields, everything we possibly can, even the targeting systems."

"But we need those to aim," one of the crew protested.

"If I can make a shot across hundreds of thousands of kilometres with just a bolter then I can make one across just a few with an anti-orbital cannon," Kullas replied. "Now do not question me, just put power into those barriers!"

"Shields restored to eighty percent," someone called as the Reapers closed. One of them fired, and Kullas automatically adjusted the firing energy for the cannon. He could feel a confused protest from the machine spirit as he sent it to the kinetic barriers, but already he had a plan.

"They're holdings," somebody called. "We have power from somewhere else."

It was then that Kullas fired.

Instead of the single immense beam he had aimed to fire before, this was pulses of fire, short, sharp stabs that hacked at the shields like a knife. Even with less power behind each individual shot, Kullas could feel the energy demands for the cannon were already lower, and hopefully…

"Enemy barriers taken down," Legion called, and Kullas did not relent. If anything, spurred on by its success, machine spirit and Forge Priest increased their rate of fire, ripping through the hull of the Reaper and tearing it asunder.

"Taking fire," somebody warned as the remaining two giants opened up. "Shields are…shields are dropping, dropping fast!"

There was a deep rumble from underneath them, and someone called; "We've got a generator overload! Get a fire suppression team down there, now!"

Someone rushed to comply, but Kullas was barely paying the scene any attention, focussed instead on the enemy before him. His gaze flicked across the shifting holograms before him, taking in the information on what was happening in a split second, seeing the shield status and the gun's power, both of them alarmingly low from the joint barrage of the two Reapers. Still, there was just enough to fire again.

Once again, pulsing shots fired from the great weapon with a sound like the crack of some cosmic whip. They played across the shields of one of the Reapers, sending its kinetic barriers shimmering with wild light, even as it vented heat to return fire.

"More power to the shields!" Kullas ordered as he saw this, sending the lances screaming out regardless. "In the name of the Omnissah, give them more power!"

Crewmen rushed to comply, desperately rerouting from wherever they could even as smoke began to leak from the floor below into the gun's command chamber. There was an edge of panic in the room, but Kullas ignored it, focussing his energies on the Reapers before him.

They fired once more, the shots slamming into the shields of Faith's Fury and sending warnings blaring across the holograms before him, but the return fire was enough to strike one of them from the sky. It crashed down, falling slowly and gracefully, but its comrade was uncaring for its demise, keeping its aim steady, unswayed from its intent to bring about the end of the Forge Priest and the weapon he commanded.

It fired, its aim slightly thrown by the fact that it also moved to evade the relentless tracking of Faith's Fury's barrel, the shot glancing off the kinetic barriers and turning the ground around it to glass.

"There's another generator down!" somebody warned. "We've got another generator overloading. We can't survive another hit!"

"Omnissah willing, we can," Kullas replied. He opened fire, rapid shots slamming into the shields, but he could feel the machine spirit of the cannon struggling now, robbed of the power of two its generators. "Push the others, right up to their limits! We must destroy the Reapers, no matter the cost!"

One of the consoles nearby him exploded suddenly, the blast of flame from the panel hurling a helpless crewman across the room. A warning klaxon screamed, red light strobing across the room, as another member of the cannon's crew grabbed a fire extinguisher and began to try and douse the blaze with foam, yelling for someone to tend to their fallen comrade.

Kullas ignored this as he opened up once more, shots glancing against the Reaper above him, what was left of his organic face set in a grim scowl of determination. Around him, choking smoke began to waft up, and someone was yelling that they needed to get out of here.

The Forge Priest cut for a moment, letting the gun cool and recharge, before he made his decision.

"All personnel," he announced. "Evacuate Faith's Fury at once. Take what wounded you can with you, and get out of here immediately. I shall deal with the last of this foe."

There were hesitant glances, before Kullas said; "I gave an order! Go! All of you, Legion, I require you to stay but a moment."

This galled him, galled him immensely, but he had no choice. He took something from where it was mag-clamped to his armour, and threw it to Legion, before he said; "I want you to deliver this to Tali'Zorah board Yamzarat Machtoro immediately. I do not want questions, I do not want you to try and pry it open, I simply wish for you to get it to her safely as soon as possible. Do you understand?"

"We understand," Legion said simply.

"Good," Kullas said. "Now go!"

As Legion left, the Geth heard a final call of; "And if you fail in this, abominable intelligence, then I swear by the Omnissah that I shall come back to this world simply so I can haunt you!"

Legion fled the facility as the final shot was fired by both the Reaper and the Forge Priest.

The ground-based cannon managed to tear past its shields, melt through the enemy's armour as the Reaper did the same. Faith's Fury's shields overloaded, the side of the facility was melted through and its generators were hit.

The death throes of Kullas Lokarim were spectacular to watch.

The final defiant shot of Faith's Fury screamed through the hull of the Reaper, gutting it entirely as the Forge Priest placed every last Watt of power into the shot. In his final seconds of existence, Kullas launched the digital portion of his mind out in a finishing assault on another Reaper, gathering together every ounce of his CPU and hitting it in a digital assault that tore down its virtual protection and crudely ripped its machine-mind to shreds, leaving it naught but a worthless hulk.

And as Faith's Fury exploded in a blast that atomised everything within the nearest fifty metres, a mushroom cloud blooming skywards, a binaric message was screamed across every radio channel used, momentarily disrupting communications of friend and foe alike.

Legion ran a translation, and it reached the closest approximation of sadness that a Geth could achieve.

Then, the Geth went to find Tali.


	61. Chapter 60

Chapter 60-Last Will and Testament

The explosion was seen across the city.

For a moment, combat past the now-fallen walls fell into a lull as it rocked London, soldiers manning the barricades they had fallen back to broke off from combat for a split second as the sky behind them seemed to come alight. From his position, holding the line against the Reaper force with hammer, blade and his simple presence, Malleus cleaved an enemy footsoldier in twain in time to see the blast. He knew where it was, without a doubt, and even though he could not decipher the screaming of seemingly random binaric that blurted through earpiece of his helm, he knew instinctively what it meant.

He gave a roar of vengeful fury, and hurled himself into the fray once more.

#

"No."

It was the only word that broke the silence that had fallen across Yamzarat Machtoro's cockpit just after the detonation had sent fire blossoming skywards.

"He's not dead," Tali said. "He's fine. He'll have got away from that, he'll be fine. This is Kullas we're talking about here."

She glanced at the holograms floating before her, ignoring the stream of binary that had somehow appeared on the screens in front of her, as Yamzarat Machtoro said; "Lady Machtoro-"

"It's fine," Tali said. "We need to deal with the Reapers. Yamzarat Machtoro, try hailing him, use his radio frequency."

"I am trying, Lady Machtoro," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "I am afraid I can get nothing other than static."

"No, of course you can't," Tali said, shaking her head. "There's be electromagnetic feedback from the explosion, that'll fry communications. Try again in a few minutes, once it's cleared."

She glanced around the bridge, and reprimanded; "There's still a war on, everyone. Kaede, get us a target; we still have Reapers in the air."

"I…on it, chief," Kaede said. Unbeknownst to Tali, she and Andrew shared a worried glance. "Alright, target's locked. Readying to fire."

"Do it quick," Macjec warned. "I see heat buildup in its weapons."

"It's ready," Kaede said. "Get 'em, Yamzarat Machtoro."

"Understood, Loggat-Mistress," Yamzarat Machtoro rumbled. There was a dulled shriek as the weapon fired, before Tali suddenly asked; "Yamzarat Machtoro, try it again. The interference might have cleared now."

There was a moment, before Yamzarat Machtoro replied; "There is still nothing, Lady Machtoro."

Tali was quiet for a moment, before she said; "No, of course not. Any interference from that wouldn't have cleared up so quickly, I should have waited longer. I'm sorry, I shouldn't distract you right now. Sorry."

Her bionic was shaking slightly, and she gripped the arm of her command throne to stop the quivering.

"Hey, I've got someone coming up to us," Macjec called. "A friendly. I think it's that battered old Geth Malleus has with him."

"Legion?" Tali asked.

"They request to come aboard," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "They say they have something they wish to give you, an important package of some kind."

"Let him…them on board," Tali said. "Bring them up to the cockpit."

"Understood, Lady Machtoro," the god machine rumbled. "Legion is aboard."

Tali nodded, and the Geth was lifted into the cockpit by Yamzarat Machtoro's internal gravitic transports a moment later.

"Creator Zorah," the synthetic greeted in its buzzing tones as it approached. "We have a package for you."

The Geth was unsure on how to handle the situation. Despite the fact that it possessed almost a dozen of organic interaction-based runtimes, the consensus it valued so highly was completely absent, each one advocating a different approach to the situation.

"What's in it?" Tali asked, looking at the black box Legion held out before it like a peace offering.

"We are unsure," Legion said. Quickly, the interaction runtimes arrived on a consensus. "It was from Kullas; he wished you to access it."

Tali nodded as Legion handed it to her. She held it in her bionic for a moment, inspecting it, before an automated voice said; "Haptic interface chip match found. Access granted, Apprentice Adept Zorah Vas Normandy-Mechanicum."

An image flicked out of the box, and with a start Tali realised it was a holographic projection of Kullas. It seemed to be a prerecorded film of some kind, and judging by the Gothic runes along one the side of it, made through one of the cameras on the pincers on his servo-harness.

"Greetings, Apprentice Adept," he said. "If you are watching this, then I am afraid that I am no longer alive."

Tali was silent. She felt frozen, the pit of her stomach heavy and cold. Her eyes were wide, somehow fixed on the projection before her despite her desperate desire to tear them away in an effort to somehow deny what was being played before her.

"I do not fear what is to come," Kullas said. "I was well aware what my service as one of the Sons of Thunder would eventually result in when I made my first oaths a neophyte, and I am still aware of it now. And while I do not relish the prospect, and indeed part of me hopes that I shall live to see the Reapers vanquished, I know I must make preparations in case the inevitable comes."

In the recording, Kullas paused to take a breath, before he said; "Apprentice adept…Tali, I know that you have, perhaps, been somewhat in awe of me, but let me tell you now that this should not be the case; if anything, I should be in awe of you. I know that I have taught you a great deal, and that perhaps you consider me more knowledgeable than yourself, but this is only because I did so from the position of greater experience, and with the expertise of the Mechanicum behind me. You, on the other hand, have none of these, yet you are easily one of the most brilliantly minded and intelligent individuals that I have ever had the pleasure of working with; I have no doubt in my mind that if you had the fortune to have been born upon a Forge World you would already be one of its most respected and skilled magi.

"I suppose, in a sense, that that makes it easier to ask of you what I now request; of all the people in this galaxy I would entrust with this, you are the first and only that I would. Within this box is a store of my entire knowledge of the Adeptus Mechanicus; its history and its rituals, but also the designs and means to make many pieces of Mechanicum equipment as well as several thousand canticles and litanies to incite machine spirits to function to their full capacity. There is great potential to help many people here, with medical technology that will help revolutionise the way we treat the injured and sick, and the augmetics you have seen are just part of it. But at the same time, there are designs for weapons in here of great and terrible power, with the potential to inflict horrific loss of life if misused.

"If you are hearing this, then I leave the fate of such things in your hands, to do with as you see fit, and I trust you as much as I would trust one of my brothers to do the right thing. And with the power invested in me as a Forge Priest of the Sons of Thunder, and currently the most senior member of the Adeptus Mechanicus in this galaxy, if you watch this then you are promoted from the rank of apprentice adept to Fabricator General.

"The fate of the Mechanicus lies within your hands, Tali," Kullas finished, bowing his head and meshing his knuckles together in a sign that made his armoured fingers look like the teeth of a cog. "Omnissah vult."

The message blinked, out, and Tali was silent for a moment. The sounds of the war raging outside grew dull and distant, and she seemed to stare vacantly ahead before she murmured; "No."

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly to try and control herself, before she said again; "No, no, no, no. This…this can't be happening."

She looked at the small black box before her, and said angrily; "This can't be happening, Kullas. You can't just…you can't just die on me! Why are you doing this? Why is this happening to me?"

Her first act as Fabricator General was to put her head in her hands and weep.

Silence fell across the bridge, the crew suddenly unsure about what to do. The woman who had lead them and their titan through the furnace of war, showing courage, intelligence and steel beyond her years, was now crying helplessly. None of them seemed to move, and there was a long, painful quiet broken only by the sound of combat outside and of Tali weeping quietly.

And then a pair of arms gently wrapped themselves around her, and Andrew murmured; "Come on Tali."

It was a phrase that didn't actually mean anything much at all, simply one of those things that used when they needed to just let another person know that they were there. Tali gripped him tightly, burying her mask into his shoulder, before she muttered; "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be doing this, not now. It's just…I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Andrew said. "He was a good friend of yours."

"I know," Tali said. "But we're…we…"

She trailed off, before she asked; "Yamzarat Machtoro, there was a load of binary on the comm. channel, just after…just after the explosion. That was Kullas, wasn't it?"

"Aye," Yamzarat Machtoro answered, his deep voice soft even as he manoeuvred through the city. He had taken a few shots for himself in the interim, keeping the Reapers at bay in order to protect his Lady Machtoro.

"What did it say?" Tali asked.

"It was just four words, Lady Machtoro," the titan answered. "'Make me proud, Tali.'"

The Quarian took a deep breath, before she said; "Right. Make him proud. I will. He wouldn't want me like this, not when there's work to do. We can…we can mourn him later."

She broke her embrace with Andrew, who stepped away from the command throne with a wan smile at her, and said; "Alright, everyone's relying on us to deal with the Reapers. Us and the Thunderhawk are the only things that have the firepower to bring them down."

She pushed the grief aside the best she could, sitting up straight in her command throne, showing as much steel as she possibly could. Somehow, she sounded older.

"Yamzarat Machtoro," she said. "Make them pay for this."

The colossal god machine roared his approval as he stomped forwards. Suddenly, Tali seemed to come alive, a terrible determination to enact vengeance upon the Reapers flaring in her breast. Orders were swiftly given, as Yamzarat Machtoro made his way towards his next target; one of the remaining Reapers.

Concrete roadways cracked underneath his tread, leaving great footprints in his wake, and he bellowed a challenge to goliaths that hovered overhead. Once hidden from view, he emerged into the open with an ear-splitting bellow, lance cannon aimed, and he fired.

The beam was powerful enough to smash away his target's shields, regardless of their proofing against directed energy weaponry, and melted away the hull of the Reaper underneath. A rain of liquid metal preceded its fall, metal turned molten from the sheer heat of the attack, and Yamzarat Machtoro cackled as it crashed down.

The others turned their fire upon him as tried to flee, shots glancing off his shields, and there was a warning from Andrew that the power wouldn't hold against another such barrage.

"Just wait for them to stop firing," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "I shall finish them then."

The beams of energy cut short as the anti-overheating systems in the Reapers' weapons kicked into life, and Yamzarat Machtoro called; "There had better be energy to fire this weapon, Loggat Mistress."

"We're good," Yukio said. "Ready to fire."

Yamzarat Machtoro did so.

The beam of focussed light tore forwards, slamming into another Reaper, obliterating its shields and melting through its hull. From nowhere, the Thunderhawk dove in, its turbolaser screaming as it unloaded into the final Reaper above him. It was enough to blast away its shield, and seeing an open, Yamzarat Machtoro raised his cannon skyward and fire.

The rapid-firing explosive shells stitched across its hull, battering at armour, impacts tearing chunks away before more slammed into the vulnerable innards. Flame belched from the wounds that Yamzarat Machtoro tore, and the giant cackled wildly as he pumped shot after shot into his foe. It began to fall, flame trailing from the holes punched into it, fingers almost seeming to reach for the titan as it fell, determined to bring an end to the giant even though its weapons had failed.

Yamzarat Machtoro roared his approval as it fell, sending a few desultory shots after it with his cannon, before he said; "What next."

What followed was a shot from behind that tore away the battered remnants of Yamzarat Machtoro's shields. Desperately, he tried to take a step forwards as the generators shut down, before a second one glanced against his knees.

Fighting to keep upright, Yamzarat Machtoro let out a groan. His legs folded beneath him, metal shrieking in protest at the weight bearing down upon it, and then, with the slow, sedate grace of a mountain collapsing, the massive form of a Reaper looming above him, Yamzarat Machtoro fell to the his knees.

Hanging above him, a flock of aircraft swarming from its hangars to deal with the Thunderhawk as it swooped round, Harbinger prepared to strike the killing blow.


	62. Chapter 61

**Author's note**: Getting terrifyingly close to finishing this now…

Also, goes a little experimental about two thirds of the way through. If it just becomes confusing, let me know and I'll see about making changes.

Chapter 61-The Last Reaper

"Reaper!"

The challenge crackled across every frequency, the stern tones of Malleus Scandarum ringing out over the field of battle.

"Answer me!"

Through their lines he came, moving towards the abomination that hovered above the city, the power armoured angel bearing hammer and blade. His warplate was scratched and dented, white paint scraped away to reveal grey ceramite beneath, but he cut a heroic figure nonetheless.

**Scandarum,** Harbinger's deep, forbidding tones answered, the Reaper seeming to pause above the helpless Titan. **Are you here to beg for the life of Yamzarat Machtoro?**

"I do not beg, fiend," Malleus said, before he smiled grimly and said; "I believe I recognise those tones of misplaced confidence. It is you, Harbinger, is it not?"

**You are correct, Scandarum**, Harbinger replied. **At last, we meet in person.**

"That we do," Malleus replied, still approaching. The exchange, he knew, was audible to everyone present, and his words would be recorded here for the generations to come; he would have to pick them wisely. "I have looked forward to this day since when I first bested you on New London, Harbinger; I promised that I would destroy you in person after I eliminated that vessel of yours, and fulfilling my promises is something that I enjoy greatly. While I daresay that you are not one to, I always keep my word."

**Arrogant words, Scandarum,** Harbinger said. **You are a little creature who plays with a hammer and a blade and believes himself a hero and saviour. You are deluded, Scandarum, deluded and foolish.**

The reply was a laugh, deep and heavy with contempt, before Malleus said; "_I_ am the deluded one, Harbinger? Look around. Look at this world, look at this war. This entire galaxy has stood against you and now look at you; you are alone, Harbinger, the very last of the Reapers. We have defeated you. Give up; it is over."

**I cannot give up, Scandarum**, Harbinger replied. **We have been the keepers of order in this universe for billions of years, and I will not shirk this duty now.**

"So that is it?" Malleus asked. "You'll simply fight, and fight on until you are extinguished?"

**Just like the Protheans, just like the Askriit, just like countless others,** Harbinger answered. **Perhaps Homo Astartum will simply fulfil the role of the Reapers, in time. We find ourselves annihilated, after so long; it is fitting that we too are defiant to the last.**

There was a deep hissing noise, and it took Malleus a moment to realise that it was sighing.

**Perhaps it is simply time for the Reapers to fall aside and let up the people of this alliance you have gathered take up our mantle instead,** Harbinger said. **And if that is not the case, then it shall be as we predicted all those aeons ago; the galaxy shall fall into dischord, chaos and ruin, and it shall all be the fault of you, Scandarum.**

The reply was simple and short.

"That shall not be."

**Shall not be? Are you really so naïve, Scandarum?**

"Naïve? Of course not," Malleus said. Finally, his brief journey through London was complete, reaching the edge of where Yamzarat Machtoro lay upon his knees, smoke leaking from the damaged joints. "Quite the opposite, Harbinger. Here, I have encountered something, something that the Reapers will never produce, I believe. Do you know what they are, Harbinger? They have many names; Shepard, Gaius, David, Hullen, Zaeed, countless others, and they are all something the Reapers can never be. They are all heroes, and while their ilk still live such a thing shall not come to pass. And by the Emperor, I will not dishonour their fine names by listening to another word of the lies that you spout out of sheer desperation; enough is enough, Harbinger. If you wish to end me, here I am. Forget Yamzarat Machtoro, forget the armies behind me, it is I you want, we both know that. Try and destroy me while you can, fiend!"

The reply was deep, rumbling laugh, before Harbinger extended one of its fingers and said; **As you wish, Scandarum.**

It was quite possibly the most insane act of playing for time that Malleus had even committed, but as the Brother Captain ran he simply didn't care.

A column of crimson speared towards Malleus, tracing just behind him as he sprinted forwards. The light it cast painted the scene red, throwing shadows and light into disarray, but Malleus' hyper-enhanced vision cut past that and a mind conditioned to know every aspect of war was already plotting his path. At the same time, he flicked the vox bead on and called; "Kurias, we need Harbinger out of the sky; I can't keep this up for too long."

"I'm trying," Kurias replied from the cockpit of the Thunderhawk as he banked round. "There's a lot of enemy craft in the sky, though."

"That's a Thunderhawk you're flying, captain," Malleus said. "It's durable enough to get close."

But not, the unspoken words said, durable enough to get away again.

In the cockpit of the heavy gunship, Kurias sliced an enemy jet from the sky above Harbinger with a shot from the lascannons, before he turned down towards the looming bulk of the Reaper. He gritted his teeth as he dived towards the massive craft, even as a swarm of enemy planes sped upwards to meet him.

Below, the fire suddenly cut out, Harbinger having to halt it to cool its weapons momentarily, but Malleus didn't stop, knowing only his constant motion was the only thing stopping him from being utterly annihilated.

"Yamzarat Machtoro!" he called into the vox. "I need you to fight, damn you!"

All he got from the Titan's frequency was static, and he tried again.

"This is Brother Captain Malleus Scandarum," Malleus called in again. "If any of the crew can hear me, respond immediately."

There was a shrieking scream from behind him as Harbinger fired once more, shading the world crimson.

"Tali, if this gets through to you then by the Emperor, do whatever you possibly can to get Yamzarat Machtoro walking again," Malleus said as he vaulted a fallen aircar. "We need you right now."

There was a wailing, snapping crack from above him, and Malleus realised it was the turbolaser firing. Moments later, Harbinger's shot ended, and the Brother-Captain glanced up to see the Thunderhawk screaming overhead. Flame trailed from one of its engines, a roaring veil of heat and light, and it was clear that it wasn't going to stay aloft.

Moments later, Kurias still fighting to keep airborne, it crashed down. Its armoured nose smashed through concrete, ploughing forwards and throwing up a great furrow of dirt and pulverised stone. One of its wings sheared off in a spray of sparks, cartwheeling away to smash into the side of a building, and the Thunderhawk finally came to rest almost a hundred metres away, smoke rising from the many wounds ripped into its white hull.

Malleus watched it for a moment, before the realisation struck; Faith's Fury was destroyed and the Thunderhawk was downed. There was only one weapon they had left that was capable of destroying the Reapers, and unless Tali did something soon, even that would be done.

Quietly, he murmured a benediction to the Emperor.

#

A titan was on his knees.

Within his now-slanted cockpit, his crew were in disarray, desperately trying to get access to the direct control consoles that were used in case of emergency.

"I can't get a connection with any of his other systems," Andrew said, furiously tapping the holographic buttons before him. "It's like…it's like he's not there."

The monitor before him was a mess of randomly flickering Askriit runes, while a voice spoke something in a language none of them could understand.

"I think…I think he's dying, Tali," he said, worry on his voice.

"How is that possible?" Yukio asked as she worked at her own console. "He just took a hit in his motion systems, that's all."

"Yeah, but that fall was like an earthquake," Andrew said. "There's no knowing what that shook up."

Yukio cursed, before she said; "Tali? Any ideas?"

Tali was still in pain from the fall, her damaged ribs badly jarred by the immense impact, but somehow, she managed to force herself to her feet, limping on her axe-staff as she approached Andrew's console.

"Just one."

The Lord Mechanist of her titan stepped aside as she approached, and leaning on the console with her organic hand, ignoring the pain in her side, she raised the staff up to the console. She remembered Kullas' words on how it would provide a safe intermediary for interfacing with machine spirits, and now it looked like she would need to use it for the very first time to drag Yamzarat Machtoro back once more.

But there was one thing she didn't know. Kullas had told her a great deal of the Titan Legios of the Mechanicus, of the princeps, the Skitarii that guarded them, but he hadn't told her of one thing; the risks every titan princeps of every Legio took whenever they communed with the spirits of their mighty war machines, the immense act of mental fortitude it took to bend the will of the mechanical to the will of the organic.

As such, completely unprepared, Tali was swallowed by the raging supernova of blind fury that was Yamzarat Machtoro's machine spirit in an instant.

In a moment, she became a mind without thoughts or memories of her own, falling through the consciousness of her titan without any steerage or guidance of her own. She saw ancient battlefields under suns she could not recognise, colossal machines making war with massive creatures of slime and disease. Somehow, she knew the names of them; Pathogenarchy, a hivemind of sentient microbes and bacteria. Somehow, she knew the names of the machines fighting with them, absorbing their names and the meanings they had in the Askriit tongue in an instant; Loggat Branzmarin, the leveller of mountains, Pagris Logazon, the healer of wounds, Ophris Kiazor, the wise persuader.

She experienced the battle just as Yamzarat Machtoro did, as he clanked and steamed through the war, far cruder in form that he was now after countless upgrades made by fifteen hundred years of Lord Mechanists. Through his camera feeds she saw it, through audio channels she heard it, through pressure sensors she felt it. Within his cockpit, she heard the first Lord Mechanist and his creator, Kior Ilmar, give his orders, and she complied as Yamzarat Machtoro fired his railgun. He cackled as her shot hit home, his aim true and her recall of the battle perfect except for a nagging at the back of his mind that someone else was there.

Suddenly, the memory changed. It was a woman, Lady Machtoro Ivris Talmin, standing atop her colossal armoured shoulder as she addressed a battered, exhausted army before her. He could feel pride in her Lady Machtoro as she began to speak to them, hearing the courage and steel in the young woman's words despite the fact that she had confessed to him the night before that she was terrified of what was to come.

"The sky has grown dark, our homeworld burns and soil has been turned to mud with the blood of our kin," she began, her words frank and unwavering. "The Almarach Ikmrin have cut us off, as, I suspect, they have with every other world in our empire, and advance upon us now to strike the killing blow. We cannot possibly win this, and I fear that once they are done with Yorzoch they shall move onto the next world, and the next, until we as a people are slain. I know that the Almarach Ikmrin shall not stop, shall not falter, until we are undone, that our actions here are ultimately futile, that not one of us shall live to see the end of the Year of the Final Death."

There were worried glances among the soldiers before her, before she said; "And yet, I have hope.

"Because I know that, sometime in the future, there will be someone, somewhere, who shall defy these Almarach Ikmrin, these reapers of life. Someone who shall eventually see them defeated and destroyed, shall annihilate them just as they have annihilated so many others. I do not know if this shall happen in a hundred years, a thousand, perhaps even many millions of them, but I know that sooner or later their end shall come. And although we will not be the ones to deliver this justice, I fully intend to honour these heroes to come by fighting as hard as I possibly can against the fiends that will see us and our loves ones undone. And I ask of you but one thing; fight with me, and together we shall burn such a legend into their history that they shall forever fear to think of us once we are gone!"

And suddenly the scene changed, and Loggat Branzmarin, his oldest friend and her most loyal, steadfast warrior, was fallen.

His death scream echoed across the battlefield as he toppled to the ground, thousands of tons of armour and firepower finally collapsing as the Almarach Ikmrin brought him low. Behind their lines, their great railgun that had been capable of killing the massive dreadnoughts was nought but twisted scrap, destroyed by the treachery of the foe's indoctrinated sleeper agents.

YamzaratTali MachtoroZorah gave a roar grief and fury as his fellow Machtoro fell. She surged forwards, his railgun cracking out a shot at the offending foes, bellowing her hatred and rage out. Two voices screamed their hatred as one, both baffled as to why there was an intruder upon their memories, firing constantly nonetheless.

Around himherthem there was slaughter, serf-soldiers of the Houses Militant that defended Yorzoch cut down in droves by the seemingly numberless foe, even as they fought on fruitlessly. The sky was on fire, painted deep orange as their homeworld was torched by the Almarach Ikmrin, smoke choking the clouds. Fertile soil had been turned to mud or crude glass, and the once verdant forests that had spread across the homeworld of the Askriit were nought but ash.

TitanQuarian pressed forwards even as liquid, mass-driver impelled metal slammed into their shields. Shehethey screamed hishertheir fury and bafflement as the kinetic barriers began to drop, as rents were torn into hishertheir armour, as shehethey fell.

Then there was darkness, and a voice saying; "We're done for, Yamzarat Machtoro. One of their plagues…one of them got into the bunker with us. We've fixed you the best we can, and if the Descendant Project works, then hopefully someone will find you, someday. Perhaps you can warn them to prepare for when the Almarach Ikmrin come for them as well. We have done all that we can, though, and now it is up to you."

The final three words were mournful and tired.

"Goodbye, Yamzarat Machtoro."

And then suddenly, all was darkness.

Tali was floating, suspended in a void of complete blackness. Were there air here, and had she lungs to breath it, she would have gasped in shock. As such, all she could do in the digital vacuum of that surrounded Yamzarat Machtoro's machine spirit was to try and stop her mind from reeling from the indefinable sense of oneness she had felt as she had been swallowed by the memories of the titan. She could still feel his recollections in her head, knew faces she had never met and never would meet, but that brief, terrifying sensation of completely losing herself within the mind of Yamzarat Machtoro was gone.

In the distance her gaze, if it could be called that, alighted on something in the blackness. A spark, the flame of a candle. Instinctively she knew that it was all that remained of Yamzarat Machtoro; if it were to go out, the machine spirit of the ancient titan would be lost forever.

Somehow, in an instant, she was before it, the tiny orb of dim light flickering weakly. Gently, she cupped it in her hands, or what she imagined were her hands, and said softly; "Yamzarat Machtoro."

"My lady," came the reply, a hoarse, shame-burdened whisper that seemed to come from every direction at once. "My lady, I…I have failed. I cannot walk."

"That isn't true, Yamzarat Machtoro," Tali said. "You can still walk, you can still fight. I know you can, Yamzarat Machtoro. I can't lose you too, not after Shepard, not after my father, not after Kullas."

"I cannot. It shames me, but I cannot. My joints have seized, the flames in my engines gutter and fade. It is hopeless.

"It isn't," Tali said. "We need you to fight, Yamzarat Machtoro. We need you on the field once more. Harbinger is still alive, your people are still unavenged, and you can bring an end to them."

There was silence, and Tali pressed it, pushing a subject that she knew would hit a nerve.

"Or are you afraid to?" she asked. "Are you too much of a coward to stand up and fight again?"

"What…what did you say?"

"You heard me, Yamzarat Machtoro. You heard what I just said, coward."

"No. I am…I am no coward."

"Then prove you aren't!" Tali challenged. "Rise, Yamzarat Machtoro. Fight!"

"I…I shall rise. I shall fight. I shall avenge my people!"

The spark burned brighter and hotter before her, and she opened her palms, letting it rise or perhaps letting herself fall.

"Then do it!" she called. "Get your revenge, Yamzarat Machtoro! Make Harbinger pay!"

"He shall pay!" Yamzarat Machtoro growled suddenly. "I will rise! I will fight! Vengeance will be mine!"

The orb burned brighter, exploding into a sun, and Tali was hurled back into the real world just as the floor of the cockpit jerked beneath her.

"What the hell did you just do?" Andrew asked.

"I'm not sure," Tali said. "But I think it worked."

Outside, Yamzarat Machtoro stood.

Flame roared from the joints in his legs as he lurched upright, tarmac cracking under his footfalls as he staggered into a standing position. Almost drunkenly, tortured systems spraying sparks from them, he took aim with his lance canon. He didn't bother to engage aiming systems, his target too huge, and he simply fired.

The beam of screaming azure light ripped through the upper section of Harbinger's hull even as the Reaper tried to pull away, melting through armour and sending a great chunk of it shearing away. Thrown, Harbinger began to drift backwards, falling groundwards, and then it slowly crashed to the ground.

Its fingers hit the earth first, gouging out great tracts of ground, before the underside of its hull smashed down, sending gouts of mud and dust skywards. The crash was enough to shake the floor, and the sheer noise of twisted, tortured metal screaming was deafening.

Over the noise of a god dying, however, was the cheering. Soldiers of every species yelling their jubilation as the war that they had fought, bled and died in seemed to come to a close. Hope bloomed, people already celebrating, before Yamzarat Machtoro said; "My scanners show Harbinger's black heart still beats."

As he heard this, Malleus nodded.

"Malleus," the titan continued. "We are not yet done. Tear it out."

Before them, more dropships flitted from Harbinger's prone form, superstalkers falling from his hull to crash to earth feet first, turning to face the living forces. In return, soldiers were rushing to the site, getting behind the Astartes that had led them this far, the man who stood before it with hammer and blade ready to deal justice once and for all, each of them wanting to be part of this final battle.

He knew instinctively that Cyralius, Titus and Okeen were at his back already, and a quick glance showed what was left of the team gathering behind him. What was left of the Harbinger's forces gathered around their fallen master, ready to defend it to the death, but Malleus cared not.

There was no more time for great speeches or grand sentiment. No time for inspirational rhetoric or courageous gestures. Instead, Malleus spoke one single word, one that was all that the forces behind him needed to hear.

"Charge."


	63. Chapter 62

**Author's Note:** Recommended listening: Dragonborn, by Jeremy Soule, from the Skyrim soundtrack. On full volume. (Also, the musical sequence is kind of cued up to the chapter as the piece is what gave me the inspiration for the events that unfold, but I think you'll have to read it really, really fast).

In any case, here goes; the final chapter, and then the epilogue. God Emperor…

Chapter 62-The Angels of the Storm

"WE ARE THE LIGHTNING OF HIS WRATH!"

Four angels roared the cry as they thundered forwards, weapons raised as they prepared to deal righteous retribution upon the foe. In their wake, an army of many peoples and many cultures followed, weapons ready to bring death to a menace that had haunted the galaxy for too long.

"WE ARE THE THUNDER OF HIS HATE!"

Malleus was the first to hit the approaching lines of the enemy, vaulting over a ridge of tortured earth and crushing one of the foe's troops with his landing, nearly a ton of ceramite and fury smashing the automaton into ruin. His thunder hammer and power sword swept out a moment later, tearing another two opponents apart, and a turning blow cleaved through their ranks, blasting the foe away.

"WE ARE THE DOOM OF THE ENEMIES OF LIFE!" he bellowed, bringing his hammer around to smash into the helmet of another enemy trooper. Though he wore no helm at the moment, his voice seemed to carry across the field nonetheless, clear and true. "WE ARE THE ONCOMING STORM!"

They did not stop and they did not even slow down. As they closed with the enemy they clubbed them with lasrifle butts, stabbed them with knives, tore them away with point-blank shots. The charge was furious, swift, merciless, the sheer weight of numbers pressing against the Reapers, grinding them back constantly.

Tanks ploughed ahead of the charge, guns blazing while their treads crushed the enemy beneath them, crews uncaring for those that were destroyed by enemy demolition charges or blasted apart by the enemy's stalk tanks. Hostile armour was targeted by heavy weapons, fullisades of fire tearing into them from every side, blasting away kinetic barriers and annihilating the armour beneath.

One of the walkers reared in front of Malleus, but the Brother Captain simply slammed his thunder hammer down upon its nose, power sword stabbing home a moment later to hack its vulnerable innards to pieces. Not even stopping, he ripped it free, sprinting over its raised spine, crashing among the foe and swinging out with his weapons once more, tearing them apart.

He whirled to avoid a shot from an enemy heavy weapon, and rapid thudding heralded Titus' arrival, the banner bearer holding the standard of the Sons aloft even as his shotgun blasted away at the foe. The offending trooper was cut down with its comrades in arms, scythed apart by the sheer power of the fire Titus was sending out, and the banner bearer mag-clamped his shotgun to his armour before taking his standard in both hands and stabbing it forwards like a spear, skewering another foe.

Together, the two of them forged ahead. They were merciless and consummately lethal, working with the sort of synchronicity that came from four centuries of fighting alongside one another; they had done so in their days in the scout company, and countless battles since then had only made them all the more dangerous. They watched each other instinctively, covering vulnerabilities and openings, wordlessly coordinating their attacks with hardly a thought.

A wave of lightning rippled just to their left as Cyralius unleashed his power, while Okeen covered the Epistolary's back with strokes from his Narthecium's chainblade. Malleus knew that the spectacular feats of power that the psyker had unleashed before wouldn't be an option here, the constant combat taking a toll upon him, but nonetheless they would be useful in clearing the way to Harbinger and that was all he needed.

Next to him was Jack, the young biotic a storm of dark energy as she tore at the foe with her talents. Grunt was by her side, blasting away with his claymore, while Garrus culled the foe with precision longlas shots, supported by Mordin's target spotting. Samara hurled a shield of biotic energy up with one hand, her laspistol snapping as she gunned down a foe with another, and for a brief moment her and Malleus' eyes met across the field of battle.

The haft of Titus' banner slashed across his vision as the standard bearer stabbed at a foe off one side of Malleus, and he yelled to his Brother-Captain; "Focus, Malleus!"

Malleus gritted his teeth and nodded, readying his weapons before plunging into the fray once more. He struck out all around him with lethal effect, slashing through armour, crushing limbs and bodies, dicing and crushing the foe without mercy or pause. At the very tip of the blade stabbing for Harbinger's black heart, he was as lethal and powerful as a bolt of lightning and as unstoppable as a hurricane. His weapons were a whirling tornado of deadly energies, electricity crackling and sparking off their power fields as they sundered the foe. It seemed as if nothing could stop them, as if they would tear through the enemy ranks and rip Harbinger asunder once and for all in but a few minutes of furious, glorious combat.

And then the superstalkers opened fire.

Beams of lethal, coruscating heat licked across their lines as the colossal walkers engaged, ripping apart soldiers on an atomic level. Tanks of all kinds exploded as the titans fired, while the auxiliary weapons upon their flanks and shoulders opened up, cutting down yet more of those under Malleus' command.

"Armoured units, focus your fire on those things!" Malleus bellowed into the vox, even as he cleaved an enemy that tried to club him with the butt of its rifle in two. "Bring it down."

He knew it would not be enough, but if he could just get close enough then he could bring them down with his thunder hammer.

"No need," a voice answered in his ear, and he realised then that it was Tali. "I have this one, Malleus."

And even though he was on one knee, fires still burning on his joints while his crew battled to extinguish them, Yamzarat Machtoro fired.

The beam of energy skewered one of the superstalkers, tearing through it from nose to tail and gutting it entirely. The massive onyx-armoured walker staggered drunkenly before it toppled downwards, crushing swathes of the foe beneath its immense tonnage, and the other one turned its fire upon Yamzarat Machtoro before shells from the titan's cannon crashed into the weapon-lense at its fore. The bursts of fire right in front of it's weapons and scanners were enough to blind it, and the god machine relented in his bombardment only to send a shot screaming into it from his lance cannon. The burning blue beam tore right through it, melting away its innards, and the thing stumbled, devoid of any will to guide it. Unlike its kin, this one did not fall sideways, splayed legs keeping it upright. Instead, it seemed to fall in upon itself, crashing to the ground in a great spray of dust and dirt.

"Finish them, Malleus," Yamzarat Machtoro called in encouragement across the vox. "Deliver vengeance! Deliver justice!"

"That I shall," Malleus replied. He switched the vox frequencies, a channel where he could be heard by all. "Their titans are fallen! Press the attack! No mercy, no retreat, no surrender! Victory or death! For the Emperor!"

In the shadow of a toppled god, they made their push.

Now robbed of superheavy walker support, the Reaper lines began to fold, the sheer press of furious soldiers too much for them to hold against. Everyone fighting on the planet had lost someone to the Reapers; many friends fallen, and others even had loved ones killed in the furious press of combat, and now a chance to revenge themselves upon the ancient machines was at hand. They were almost frenzied in their charge, their weapons blazing as they fired shot after shot into the foe, scything them down, pressing forwards with sheer weight of numbers behind them.

And at the fore of the army was Malleus. The Brother Captain, the hero of the war, accompanied by his remaining three brothers, carved their way through the foe. A screaming chainblade on a narthecium, a shotgun and the pointed tip of a banner, a staff wreathed in unearthly energies, a hammer and a blade all reaped a bloody toll upon the foe, as they pressed forwards. Through the press of the foe they went, merciless and unstoppable as a hurricane, before they reached the lee of Harbinger's fingers.

Each one of them was huge enough to block out the already weak sunlight that had been choked by clouds and smoke, and here the foe's numbers were denser than ever before, taking advantage of the natural chokepoint the massive weapons made to try and channel the foe close. Rounds hammered off the armour of the Astartes fruitlessly as they charged forwards, plunging into the ranks of the foe without mercy.

The press of melee combat, the enemy's density proved to be their bane as Malleus and his brothers tore forwards. Shots came at them from every angle, but they merely shrugged them off, plunging towards the hatches that allowed them entry into Harbinger's main structure. Behind them came the rest of the army, pressing into the breach the Astartes had punched. Shots blazed from their weapons, lasguns punching through armour and melting away at the foe, while missile and portable mass-driver cannon fire exploded amongst their ranks.

And then they were through, into Harbinger's dim, onyx-walled corridors.

"Harbinger!" Malleus roared as he cut down a group of enemy soldiers before him, his team at his back. "It ends now! Your end is here!"

**You are a fool, Scandarum,** Harbinger's voice echoed through the corridors. **I tell you now that what we do is for the good of this galaxy! Why do you not listen?**

"Because you lie, Harbinger," Malleus replied. "You are a deluded, foolish creature, hiding from the light of the Emperor, and now that it is here to burn you from your hole you hide behind the veils and illusion! And now you must die!"

**A curse upon you, Malleus Scandarum!** Harbinger boomed furiously as Malleus charged forwards. He was close now, the Brother Captain knew it; not much further, and then he would be at the Reaper's heart. **A curse upon you and all who you have followed you in your acts of madness! May you and your followers forever walk in darkness, live in an eternity of war, ignorance and suffering! May you all rot and perish in the cauldron of ills that you have begun to stir upon this day! You should not have attempted to fight the inevitable! You will all pay, all of you!**

Malleus simply ignored the ancient machine's ranting, mag-clamping his blade to his armour and drawing his bolt pistol. The weapon had been unused since his assault upon the Collectors' cruiser all those months ago, and he had only half a magazine of bolt shells left, but for what he planned, he needed only one.

"Harbinger," he announced as he flicked the slide back with an armoured thumb. "I charge you with the crimes of genocide, mass murder, the theft of the free will of sentient beings, slavery, kidnapping and blaspheming against the Emperor of Man!"

His hammer smashed aside a bulkhead, and he found himself charging into a room dominated by a glowing blue mass effect core. He swept aside a knot of the foe, smashing one apart before he raised his pistol. Next to him, Samara swept another few aside with a blast of biotics, throwing up a barrier next to Malleus to stop an enemy heavy weapons shot before plucking it away.

"By the authority invested in me by the Divine Emperor as a Brother Captain of the Sons of Thunder, and by that given to me by the Citadel Council, I have but one judgement to give," Malleus continued, aiming straight for the core. "I find you guilty!"

He squeezed the trigger, and delivered a justice that had been waiting billions of years to be delivered. The diamantine tip of the mass-reactive round ripped through one of the spinning rings that contained the field that powered Harbinger, throwing them out of kilter and sending them crashing into one another before the charge detonated.

The core flared for a moment, and winked, and silence fell.

Robbed of the malignant will that guided them, the last of the Reapers' soldiers came to a halt, empty and dulled. Several toppled to the ground as the lights above them grew dim, now absent of any power whatsoever.

Malleus lowered his gently smoking bolt pistol, looking at the core while the others gathered beside him.

"Blessed God Emperor," he uttered. "We did it. The deed is finally done, after so long."

And before he could do anything else, Samara kissed him.


	64. Epilogue

Epilogue-The Heretic

_And if we find our way back home again  
Is there something left to save?  
What if we find ourselves alone again?  
Is there something left to save?  
This trust will not be torn apart  
Control the violence in your hearts  
We gave our lives to Normandy_

-Normandy, Miracle of Sound

It was the first day of 2186, and ahead of the galaxy stretched the future.

Across the galaxy, a new dawn was rising. Four hundred billion stars cast their light upon untold numbers of worlds, a sunrise that was glorious in its magnitude and made all the more glorious because it was constant, unending and as old as the Milky Way itself. For wherever there were worlds there were sunrises, even if there was nobody there to see them, and every minute of the cosmos' existence the day began anew.

Malleus Scandarum stood before one of these stars, looking out at its roiling orange surface through polarised glass. What should have been blindingly bright instead showed a seething mass of flame, a solar furnace where hydrogen was formed into helium, where the base elements that made up the entire galaxy were forged.

"It is strange to think," he said after a moment. "That however the war would have ended, this star would have burned away for millions years more regardless of the outcome and utterly uncaring for it. All the struggle we went through to save the galaxy, and it would continue to do what it has done for aeons without a scrap of concern for what happened."

Next to him, the Illusive Man nodded, dwarfed by the giant in power armour that stood next to him, watching the solar foundry blaze.

"It's certainly an interesting thing to think about," he said, stepping away from the glass. "But that wasn't what I brought you here to discuss."

"I suspected as much," Malleus replied, following in his footsteps. "In fact, unless I'm very much mistaken, I would hazard a guess that you might want to discuss the future of humanity."

The Illusive Man nodded.

"I'll admit, it could be better," he said. "Earth is ruined, the Citadel is shattered; I'm having a hard time seeing how we'll recover any time soon."

"It's not impossible," Malleus said. "After the Horus Heresy, Terra was a wasteland, the Emperor was on life support and the Imperial armies had taken casualties that numbered in the hundreds of billions, perhaps even the trillions, but we recovered to rule an Imperium of a million worlds and quadrillions of citizens. I suspect that such a thing could happen again."

"We do have a unique opportunity," the Illusive Man observed, sitting down in his chair. "The dynamics of galactic power have been greatly upset in recent days, and you've gained a great deal of influence."

He gestured to a waiting servant, and the man stepped forwards, two glasses filled with clear amber liquid held on a silver tray.

"Scotch?" he asked, taking one.

"I don't," Malleus answered.

"You have just saved an entire galaxy," the Illusive Man pointed out. "I'm sure your Emperor would forgive you one glass."

Malleus shrugged, before taking the other. He took a sip of the drink, the taste reminiscent of finely made Imperial amasec.

"Of course, all this talk of Emperor's and Imperiums…means that you can't help but think of such things," the Illusive Man remarked. "Its always sounded like quite a place."

"It is more than Cerberus dared dream of," Malleus said. "Humanity in the ascendant, ruling over the greatest empire ever to span the stars. Guarded by a million Astartes, trillions of mortal soldiers and fleets the like of which you cannot even begin to imagine." There was a warm, nostalgic smile on his face. "It was truly the most glorious thing you could imagine."

The Illusive Man nodded.

"And here we are," he said. "Presented with a unique opportunity; a powerful, charismatic pro-human leader, adored by billions and regarded as the saviour of the galaxy, called upon to lead all the people of the galaxy into a new age. One who has the drive and skill to hold it all together, and the respect of every soldier out there. One who has the clarity of vision to know what shape the future must take."

Malleus chuckled quietly at this.

"Aye," he said. "The time has come, I think, to rebuild the galaxy anew; we have thrown off the mantle of harvest the Reapers placed upon us, and now it is time that we take bold steps forward into the future."

"That sounds like something from a speech," the Illusive Man remarked.

"That's because I intend to use it in one," Malleus said. "You and I both, we are able to guide and shape the future to the right ends."

He raised his glass.

"To the New Imperium," he said.

"To the New Imperium," the Illusive Man echoed.

Glass clinked against glass, and the foundations for the future were laid.

#

The ability to exercise restraint.

That, Malleus remembered, was what had picked him out as the eventual successor to Brother-Captain Mordechai's appointment as commander of the Sixth. Division-Commander Heyachus had been the better strategist than he, but that was what had picked Malleus out in the end; the ability to take a step back, assess the situation, think carefully of his actions and consider the further-reaching consequences that may result. And then, all of that had led to that single, pivotal moment upon New London, the order to hold fire, the decision to take stock. If it had been anyone else, he reflected, he thought that things could have gone very differently; a zealous Templar, a hot-headed White Scar, any of their ilk would most likely have opened fire without question.

And now, here he was. Preparing to step onto a stage to be greeted as a hero not just by human beings, but by xenos, of all things. Simply because he had taken a moment to think, and to consider; as a result, the entire galaxy had been changed. As a result, _he_ had been changed.

The entire ceremony felt unfamiliar to him. Before, once the Sons of Thunder had completed a campaign, they would not tarry, instead moving on to the next war and leaving the task of aiding refugees and survivors to PDF or Imperial Guard forces. But now? There was nothing more to move onto. There were no more wars. The entire galaxy had forged bonds in the furnace of conflict, soldiers of every species fighting and dying for one another against a common foe, and such things would not be easy to break. So Malleus had no choice but to let them shower him with accolades.

And after this…that was something he had failed to consider still. Building the New Imperium, that was true, though how it would be built? That was another matter entirely.

For the moment, at least, he put those thoughts aside. Instead, he stepped forwards onto the stage; Councillor Suvat and Councillor T'Loak were already waiting for them, Aria having been picked as the leader of the Asari Republics on a landslide with thank due in no small part to Malleus' endorsement of her as a candidate.

The sound of the cheering hit him like a hammer, and he raised hand with a smile to greet them. His power armour had been repaired, the chips and scratches in the paint removed, the gold of its pauldrons and trim gleaming in the spotlights overhead.

"My friends," he said, voice carrying over the jubilation in the crowd before him. "Victory is ours."

#

They were gathered in the CIC of the Normandy. Four Astartes, a Quarian, a Geth, a Krogan, four humans, an asari and a Salarian. All, with the addition of Ashley, that was left from the original team that had taken the fight to the Collectors. With them, the entire crew, as Malleus stood before them on the command pulpit. Kelly, somehow looking less tired and harrowed from her experience on the Collector's station, Gabby and Kenneth grinning at him proudly and, he noted, holding hands tightly, and Joker, supporting himself on Kurias' wheelchair, the old captain's leg in a cast after the Thunderhawk had come crashing to earth. Antoinette was by Miranda's crutches, standing by her legs

"I have but two words to say to you all," he said. "I will admit that no that, in my mind, they come nowhere near close enough to the heroism, the courage, the willingness to commit humbling acts of self-sacrifice that you have all shown during these times. Nonetheless, I feel I must say them. Thank you."

He was silent for a moment, before he said; "We have all suffered from this war, all lost those we were proud to call friends and comrades. Many of us bear scars, wounds that shall never quite heal, but nonetheless I am proud of you, each and every one, for what you have done here. But the ties that have bound you to this fine ship have finally been severed. Your duties have been fulfilled. I do not know what will become of the Normandy, though I will do all in my power to make sure that nothing ill befalls it, but for those of you I recruited to fight the Collectors and their masters, your duties have been fulfilled. Do what you wish, go where you will; whatever happens, you all have my blessing, and my eternal gratitude."

He stepped down from the podium, and let the crew say their farewells.

Miranda was the first to come to him, moving slightly awkwardly on her crutches, and Malleus stopped as the Astartes said; "So what lies in store for you then, Miranda?"

"Me?" Miranda asked. "Well, seeing as the Kasrkin are now being co-opted into the Alliance, I'll still be leading them once I'm walking again."

"Good," Malleus said. "They'll do well under your command."

Miranda smiled, before she said; "Thank you, Malleus."

She chuckled quietly and shook her head.

"You know, I had a few doubts about you when were first put in command," she said. "I'm glad you proved me wrong."

"As am I," Malleus said, nodding slowly. "And now look at this; the greatest threat to humanity's existence has finally been vanquished, once and for all."

Miranda nodded, and there was slightly awkward silence before she said; "Well, I suppose this is it, isn't it?"

"Aye," Malleus said.

"What'll happen to the Normandy?" Miranda asked.

"I don't know," Malleus said. "I might keep it, but I'm not sure; I don't know how much use I will have for it."

"I'm sure you'll find something good for it," Miranda replied, smiling slightly.

Malleus nodded, before he said; "Give my regards to your sister, by the way."

Miranda smiled, and said; "I'll be sure to. Good luck to you and Samara."

Like everyone else, she had seen the kiss, but with that, she left, Antionette following in her wake.

Mordin's farewell and his plans were delivered in the brusque shorthand that was his usual mode of speech; "Returning to Omega. Daniel, my assistant, running it at moment, doing well but lacks experience, needs help. Saved lots of lives on Earth, can always save more."

Garrus' answer was vague.

"I've got some unfinished business," he said, tapping a talon on his longlas. "And I'm not just ready to settle down yet."

"Spectres will still be needed," Ashley said. "And, well, I was sworn in for a reason."

"I'm going back to Urdnot," Grunt said. "I'm glad I was here, Malleus; you showed me a thing or two about breaking heads. And the clans owe you, big time. Urdnot Wrex told me to say that every Krogan is in the debt of the Sons of Thunder."

"Tell him he has my gratitude," Malleus said. "And that that debt can be considered repaid by what he and all other Krogan did upon Terra."

In a slightly lonely corner of the CIC, Jack and Cyralius met.

"Well, I guess this is it," she said, an edge of slight nervousness on her voice. "We won. We actually beat the motherfuckers."

Cyralius nodded slowly, before he said; "That much is true. I almost never expected it."

"Yeah," Jack said. "So what're you going to do now?"

"I was thinking that I might lend my expertise to the Ascension Project at Grissom Academy," Cyralius said.

"The school for biotic kids?" Jack asked, a slight hint of derision on her voice. "And you as a teacher there?"

"Well, Jack, if I can teach you then I daresay I can teach anyone," Cyralius replied with a gently reprimanding smile. Jack just shrugged.

"Yeah, good point, I guess," she said.

"So what are you going to do, then?" Cyralius asked.

"I…I don't know," Jack said after a moment. "I hadn't really thought about that. I've got no idea."

Cyralius just smiled, and placed hand on her shoulder.

"Whatever it is," he said. "I'll wlways be willing to help, and you'll know where to find me."

Jack simply grabbed him in a hug, and said; "Thanks, Cyril. Thanks for, well, thanks for everything."

Cyralius returned the embrace, gently squeezing her shoulder with a gauntlet, before he said; "There's no need to thank me."

Several members of the old team had already left by the airlock, and somehow the CIC was feeling distinctly emptier to Malleus as he looked upon it. Titus stepped away from where he was saying a farewell to Grunt, the young Krogan grinning at him as he left, and the standard bearer remarked to Malleus; "Grunt'll do well, I think."

"Aye," Malleus said. "I hope he does; he fought hard enough for the chance to."

Titus nodded.

"To think," he said after a moment. "That I count xenos amongst the warriors that I've felt the most honoured to serve with. I never would have suspected that I'd actually be a mentor to one, of all things."

"Strange days indeed," Malleus replied. "None of us suspected this, I don't think."

There was a silence, before Malleus said; "I have a feeling that you're going to ask me a question with a difficult answer quite soon, aren't you, brother?"

Titus nodded.

"I think I should call you a heretic," he said after a moment. "But if that's the case, well, I suppose that I am too, and an expression concerning pots and kettles springs to mind."

"So you don't think…"

"You're both members of a monastic warrior order dedicated to defending the innocent and bound by a strong honour code," Titus replied with a gentle smile. "Even if she is a xenos, all things considered I'd say that you two were made for each other."

Malleus chuckled at this, before he said; "Thank you, brother. For everything. Not just here, but in the Imperium as well. I think I've lost count of how many times I've owed you my life."

"Well, you've been quick to repay those debts," Titus answered.

There was a pause, before Titus said; "Do you think…do you think He is out there?"

Malleus shook his head, before he said; "I think not, no."

"What makes you so sure?"

"In the Old Night, he came from Terra to save humanity," Malleus said. "And that was, according to legend, caused by Chaos. Seeing as this galaxy has its Reapers in place of its Dark Gods, I would have thought that he would have arisen to safeguard Terra against them. But he's still there, on Holy Terra behind the Eternity Gate, guarded by His Custodes, His Imperial Guard and the Astartes, beyond the veil of this universe. But he wasn't here, so that's why I think he sent us instead, to safeguard this humanity in His stead."

"Perhaps you're right," Titus said after a thoughtful moment. "I wonder what He'd think of us right now, though."

"We were what He sent," Malleus replied. "And humanity is safe. Hopefully, that's what He intended. And if we're heretics for what we've done, then I suppose I shall just have to accept that. There are more deplorable traitors than us out there."

Titus nodded.

"Well," he said. "You've been my commander for four centuries, Malleus, and you've been as good a one as I could ever hope for."

He grinned at him.

"I think we're doing the right thing here."

#

Malleus found her at the end of the Normandy's jetty on the Citadel. She was leaning on the railing, looking out at the station as the first attempts at reconstructing the great station were beginning, a contemplative look on her face. Malleus simply stood next to her, not bothering to lean in the knowledge that his weight would probably snap it off, and watched it with her. Many of the buildings had not even had the ash scrubbed off them, and even with the massive construction machines assigned to the task, it would be months before the rubble was cleared.

"I'm released from my oath," she said after a sudden moment. "I only just realised that."

Malleus nodded, before he said; "That you are. I remember on Ilium you said that if I was unworthy of living up to the code's standards you'd have to kill me. Tell me, Samara, am I worthy of death, then?"

Samara was quiet for a moment, before she said; "You have been ruthless at times, Malleus, perhaps excessively so, but always, it seems, working towards the greater good and whenever you sacrificed lives for victory, you were always willing to sacrifice your own just as much. You are harsh, sometimes, but evil? I don't think so. You're a better person than you realise."

Malleus nodded.

"About…" he managed, before trailing off slightly. Frankly, he had no idea how to approach the subject.

"I know," Samara said. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I was simply…caught up in the moment. You said how you felt about it. It was unfair of me."

"I don't know," Malleus said after a moment's quiet. "I suppose that, as first kisses go, one in the moment of victory over the greatest threat to every living thing in this galaxy with a woman who I greatly respect and admire can hardly be considered the worst of them."

Samara was quiet for a moment, before she asked; "Do you mean…?"

"I thought of what you said," Malleus said after a moment. "What _I_ said as well. I don't know exactly what I should think, but everything about this galaxy, about this war, has changed how I view things, how I feel I should view things. I have been proven wrong in a great deal of things so far, Samara."

He smiled at her gently.

"I think I can be proven wrong in one more."

#

"We cannot simply allow a potentially hostile fleet within such close proximity of our homeworld," Han'Gerrel protested. "It poses an unacceptable threat!"

"Our intentions are not hostile," Legion replied. "But the space is controlled by the Geth; we harvest valuable resources from that area, and those are essential for our survival. If we were unable to access these resources, we would have to seek them from elsewhere, and that may disrupt consensus in the galaxy."

"So you expect us to simply let you have an entire fleet of warships on our doorstep?" the admiral asked incredulously. "Preposterous; you're clearly planning an armed buildup."

"Don't be ridiculous, Han," Zaal'Koris interjected. "If the Geth were trying to start a war her then would they have really put so much in against the Reapers? Can't you see that we have an opportunity to get our homeworld back without any bloodshed? Or are you just too blind to see it?"

Tali fought the urge to sigh as she watched the members of the Admiralty Board start bickering again. It had been frustrating in the extreme to see the first negotiations, if they could be called that, start out. She had hoped, dearly hoped, that it could be resolved without any stupid arguments (the Geth needed to mine as well, how hard could that be to accept?), but here the Admirals were, arguing with themselves more than they were with the Geth's sole representative they had in the form of Legion.

"Lady Machtoro," Yamzarat Machtoro muttered to her from the small pedestal that he was using to speak through. "I tire of these talks; why are we even her in the first place?"

"Supposedly we're a neutral party in all this," Tali replied, the scepticism layered upon her voice all too obvious for all to hear. In reality, though, she knew what they were really there for; both sides wanted two things from her, and it had nothing to do with her returning to the Homeworld.

"Pah," Yamzarat Machtoro said. "I say that this enough."

Tali nodded, before she suddenly stood.

"I'd ask if I could interrupt," she said. "But as far as I can tell, right now all I'd be doing is stopping the Admirals from going in circles again."

"Wait your turn before you take the floor," Zaal'Koris interjected.

If she had been her younger self, Tali might have done so, but she had not battled Collectors, outwitted a stalk tank, fought the Reapers and commanded a titan to be cowed by Zaal'Koris, of all people.

"No I shall not," she replied, fixing him with a glare. "These negotiations can continue without me, so I want to know why I'm even here."

"As we said," Daro'Xen replied. "We need you to provide-"

"No you don't," Tali said. "That's what you have Malleus and the Citadel's diplomats here for. Unless I'm completely wrong, there are two reasons why I'm here; you just want Yamzarat Machtoro and Kullas' data chip."

"That's completely irrelevant," Han'Gerrel protested, but Tali shook her head.

"They're both the most powerful things in the galaxy," she said. "And you're trying to bribe me into giving them away."

"We're not trying to bribe you, Tali," Shala'Raan said soothingly.

"Yes you are," Tali said. "And I'm afraid you can't have them, either of them."

"Yamzarat Machtoro is ours by right of inheritance," Zaal'Koris snapped. "He is the property of the Quarian people."

"Property?" Yamzarat Machtoro growled from the projector that allowed him to speak. "I am the property of no one!"

"You seem willing enough to serve Tali'Zorah," Han'Gerrel said.

"I am willing to serve Tali'Zorah because she has shown courage, intelligence and strength of character that marks her as being worthy of bearing the title of Lady Machtoro," Yamzarat Machtoro replied. "You, on the other hand, have done nothing but bicker and argue like children during this entire process, and it took the intervention of Malleus Scandarum to make you gain enough courage to fight the Almarach Ikmrin. It shames me to think that the legacy of the Askriit are lead by fools such as you."

"Yamzarat Machtoro is right," Tali said. "I'm not coming back to the Migrant Fleet, or the Homeworld, if you ever stop arguing long enough to work out something reasonable and get it back for us."

"But…Tali," Shala'Raan managed to say. "I was…"

"I know," Tali said. "I'm sorry, Auntie Raan."

She ran a finger of her bionic over the skull on the head of her axe-staff.

"But I've got something I need to do."

_The Reaper War, as it became known, was the bloodiest conflict in Citadel history. The galaxy suffered a total of more than eight billion casualties, civilian and soldier alike, from all species. But through immense sacrifice and boundless courage, the Reapers were finally defeated, the greatest menace to all life in the galaxy vanquished once and for all._

_Due to their contributions to the war, the Krogan, Geth and Quarians were granted embassy on the Citadel. As of early 2186, the Quarians have also begun resettlement programs on their homeworld, Rannoch, though there has been great unease at the Geth's presence in the nearby systems of the Perseus Veil._

_Despite various protests from political opponents, Aria T'Loak still remains one of the most popular presidents in the history of the Asari Republics, due in no small part to her actions in the Reaper War and her endorsements from Malleus Scandarum. It is noted that she recorded in her memoirs that, compared to presiding over the Republics and serving as the Asari's representative in the Council, ruling Omega and fighting the Reapers was child's play._

_Due to the role played by the Batarians as auxiliary forces to the Reapers, considerable reparations have been levied upon the Batarian Hegemony. Known as the Reaper War Reparations (a term swiftly shortened by the popular media to the 'Reaperations'), the severe economic sanctions have caused a great deal of difficulty for the Hegemony. With several groups within the Hegemony believing that their actions were justified, a crippled military and an economy struggling beneath the burden of the sanctions, civil war is threatening to overtake the Hegemony within the next few years. _

_The Yahg were returned to Parnack and stripped of all Reaper technology. Realising the threat the hyper-aggressive species pose, several Council observation teams remain in constant vigilance over the planet; the Yahg have had their first taste of the stars, and it seems that such a thing has whet their appetite for more._

_Urdnot Wrex currently holds supreme authority over the clans of Tuchanka. Despite rumblings of discontent already threatening, stability looks set to reign for at least a few more years, due in no small part to the bonds forged between the various clans in the war. Urdnot Grunt is currently serving as one of his lieutenants, and is rapidly gaining a reputation as one of the clan's most formidable warriors._

_Shortly after his departure from the Normandy, Garrus Vakarian seemed to fall off the radar. A few weeks later, the infamous sniper rifle wielding vigilante known as Archangel reappeared on Omega despite beliefs of the mercenary bands there that he was dead. So far, it is still under debate as to whether or not his one-man war on the station's crime lords is meeting any kind of success._

_In early 2186, an Alliance planetary survey team discovered an arid, but habitable world in the mid-western arm of the galaxy. The honour of naming it was given to Malleus Scandarum, who dubbed it Cadia. Currently, it serves as the primary training ground for Alliance soldiers as its military begins to rebuild, and it is governed by Lady Castellan Miranda Lawson. Due to a still-unexplained genetic anomaly dubbed 'The Cadian Phenomenon', all children born on the planet have the distinguishing feature of having violet irises._

_Mordin Solus continues to run his clinic on Omega. Despite pressure from mercenary groups demanding 'protection' he appears determined to carry on his work._

_Thanks to her actions in the Reaper War, Ashley Williams received a promotion to Captain, and is still one of the Council's Spectres. Currently, she is working in operations against the Shadow Broker along with Liara T'Soni._

_Fabricator General Tali'Zorah Nar Rayya Vas Mechanicum left the Normandy for Mars, setting the foundations for the Adeptus Mechanicus along with Andrew Johnson, Kaede Yukio and Yamzarat Machtoro. Styling itself as a 'technophilanthropic' organisation, it has already made several advances in medical and computing technologies. It has gained several members from multiple species (most notably, Quarians and Salarians as well as multiple representatives/contributors from the Geth). Thanks to the knowledge and blueprints provided by Yamzarat Machtoro, they are one of the few organisations in Citadel space now allowed to research Artificial Intelligence. Funding provided by Yuri and Vasiliev Rasenkov have lead to accusations of pandering to corporate interests, but a notable lack of weapons technology emerging from the Mechanicus, along with its large-scale distribution of freeware, seems to provide ample evidence to the contrary. _

_The day after the crew of the Normandy departed the ship, Cyralius Lockheim received the following note:_

Cyril

I'm sorry, but I've been giving this a lot of thought, and I don't think this can work. I don't think I'm ready to handle being normal. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I think that I want to go somewhere where people need help, do something like what Garrus did.

Thank you for everything you've done for me and everything you taught me, but I'm not ready to settle down just yet.

Please don't try and follow me

Jack

_Thane Krios spent his final days in a hospice for sufferers of Keppler's Syndrome. He died just as the year turned, in time to hear news of Malleus' victory over the Reapers. According to the attendants, he passed away peacefully in his sleep, smiling happily._

_Kurias Issich has gone into retirement on Bekenstein, and currently enjoys the accommodation of a spacious home provided to him free of charge by the Alliance. Despite his advancing age, he still flies light aircraft as a hobby._

_Jeff 'Joker' Moreau remained as part of the Normandy's crew under the overall command of Malleus Scandarum, and is now hailed as one of the best pilots in the Alliance and the galaxy. Currently the Normandy SR2 serves as the flagship of the Alliance Fleet as well as the personal vessel of Malleus Scandarum; much of her crew remain aboard, even though the Normandy was technically a Cerberus ship._

_Cerberus remains an illegal organisation, working on multiple projects out of the Terminus systems. Following the Reaper War, multiple arrests were made of Cerberus ringleaders, but the Illusive Man himself has avoided capture. Despite the fact that Malleus Scandarum worked closely with him against the Reapers and the Collectors, the Brother-Captain professed no close insight as to his identity or current location. Arrested Cerberus leaders found themselves strongarmed into working into the Alliance under threat of arrest, and it was only through their action against the Reapers that the Kasrkin and Miranda Lawson found themselves not facing charges. Notably, however, Okeen Narre seems to have dropped off the grid following contact with the Illusive Man; currently, the Apothecary is working on Project Angelus in [location redacted]. Despite accusations of still working with the organisation after the war and protecting its members, Malleus Scandarum has had no charges levelled against him due to a lack of any evidence proving this to be the case._

_Titus Adron currently serves in the Council's Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. Despite being somewhat less subtle and more noticeable than some of its agents, his record of completed missions has been extremely positive; most notable was his near-singlehanded breaking up of a slaver ring operating in the Terminus systems, and his elimination of the infamous Blood Pack mercenary leader, Halvag Karroh._

_Despite his somewhat unconventional teaching methods, Cyralius Lockheim is becoming one of the most accomplished tutors available to biotic children at Grissom Academy's Ascension Project (which he jokingly nicknamed the Schola Biotica). He remains popular with pupils and staff alike, and despite his near-unmatchable martial and psychobiotic abilities, has clearly stated that he will only take up arms if it is over a matter of dire necessity. Despite connections with the information broker Liara T'Soni, he has made no attempt to track down Jack/Subject Zero. _

_Following his work fighting in the Reaper War, Malleus Scandarum currently holds the position of the Council's Warmaster, a rank second only to the Councillors themselves and with overall strategic command of the Citadel Guard. Despite his somewhat abrupt manner when dealing in political matters, his charisma and sheer popularity, combined with his tactical capabilities, means that no amount of backroom politics look set to remove him from his office at any time soon. Notably, few attempts have been made to do so, and Malleus has joked that those that may attempt a coup d'état on his position are probably too afraid of him to try it._

_Domenica T'Marris-Scandarum was born June 18th 2200._

**FIN**


	65. A Final Word from the Author

A Final word from the Author

Right, seeing as there were a huge number of reviews I got overnight, and I didn't have time to reply to them this morning due to having to go to school (bloody timezones) and, well this is all finished, this should probably be a reply to the ones all you lovely people left.

So…this is a little something for those of you who like to read the acknowledgements and so forth that you often find at the back of books. There's nothing here's that essential reading, but if this is the sort of thing that interests you, read on. There are a few people I need to thank here, both from the Black Library Bolthole and on Fanfiction. net, the two sites where I posted this up, and because I'm a lazy person I'm doing you both at once.

I'll admit that I'm a little shellshocked at actually having come this far; for a long while, finishing Angels of the Storm seemed to become more and more of an unobtainable goal as more ideas bloomed from it and not only hit Hammerhand's wordcount but eventually shot to more than one and half times its size with the end still a gook 30K words away, but here I am, writing this little note and worrying about not sounding too damn smug. And I couldn't have got here without you people.

First of all, a resoundingly huge thank you goes to Gaius Marius of the Black Library Bolthole forums, my longest-standing reader of this piece, who was there from chapter one and stuck with this the whole way through. Not only that, but I realise that his story, Imperator, gave me the idea of Yamzarat Machtoro's character, even though when I first introduced him I had all but forgotten it at the time. The subconscious is a funny thing like that.

Secondly, I want a shoutout to S058, Vermin-Lord, LunaticPandora1 and Warmaster Samiel for being a useful sounding board for ideas of this story even though they were under no obligation to respond to me to shouting random thoughts at them like an internet hobo. Also, thanks to my IRL friend Mack, who got the same treatment but, since it wasn't the internet I was talking to him on, also had to deal with the offensive smell and the occasional ballistic can of Special Brew, something for which I owe him greatly. Millennium hand and shrimp!

Third, thanks go to Ursakar, TheSGC and MalletMann for the truly humbling accolade of citing me as inspiration for some Mass Effect/40K crossovers of their own. If you want more Warhammery, Mass-Effecty goodness, then I recommend The Mission Stays the Same, The Tide of War (I've probably got that wrong, I'm sorry SGC, I don't have a net connection at the moment) and The Outsiders as the places to go.

Finally, I want to thank everyone who's taken the time to review, critique, or just say they liked it, along with the lurkers and followers who favourited and subbed this but chose to remain in shadowy silence like a mysterious legion of literature ninjas (God Emperor, I'm using weird similes right now). Now's a good a time as any to break that silence, guys! ;)

Finally, of course, I owe a great deal of gratitude to both Games Workshop and Bioware, without whom none of this would have happened. In particular, I feel I owe Jack Wall and his soundtrack which, when listening to while going on France with my family in the car, caused a thought to strike me which went roughly along the lines of; 'Hey, what if Commander Shepard was a _Space Marine_?' The rest, as they say, is history.

In short, I couldn't have done this without you guys. I owe you all big time for seeing me through the adventures of Malleus and his brothers and their war against the Reapers. Every one of the 299,259 words of this story I owe to you, you amazing, lovely people (except for you, Clive, you can frak right off).

Finally, all that remains to be said that, as far as things go, the story of Malleus Scandarum and the changed Mass Effect-verse that he has helped shape is now at an end. I have ideas for this, quite a few, and I have a feeling that right after finishing this I could open up a new document and start writing them straight away, but I won't; I'm leaving Malleus and the others to rest now. I wish him and the others the best of luck, and I'll remember him fondly, but there are other ideas I have and I feel it's time for him to step aside and allow them to take centre stage. He's had his hero's journey, he's learned the lessons of the events that unfolded around him, and it's time to move on.

CursedRogue and EvilAngel215, the Mass Effect/Bioshock and the 40K/Halo pieces I've promised are coming, but after I've got at least one more thing finished first, I'm afraid; four stories are a lot to write at once, even without deadlines, and with exams looming on the horizon I fear that they'd probably all lose out if I tried carrying that on. But worry not; arrive they shall.

So all that remains to be said is this; my version of Mass Effect 3's events is complete. My love letter to your games was completed in Hammerhand, and now the gauntlet is thrown down to you in Angels of the Storm. I'll be waiting for the 6th March, Bioware; my bar's been set.

So all that remains to be said is; may the Emperor protect, the Dark Gods annihilate your foes in fire and damnation, the C'tan grant you transcendence from the flesh, the Hive Mind consume and the Young Gods grant you peace and prosperity. Colonel Mustard signing out.

*Salutes*


End file.
